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THE ONE MAN 


Dr. (Mrs.) F^'L. S. ALDRICH 

l\ 




BOSTON 

The Roxburgh Publishing Company 

( INCORPORATED 


Copyright 1910 by 
L. S. Aldrich, M. D. 



©CI,A273343 


sj 


TO 

A. G. A. 


‘ Colonial Hall’ 
March nineteenth 
1910 


I 


^ ‘ Ah Love ! could thou and I with Fate conspire 
To grasp this sorry Scheme of Things entire, 
Would not we shatter it to hits— and then 
Remould it nearer to the Heart’s desire.” 


THE ONE MAN. 


CHAPTER I. 

‘H do not approve of it. You will never be 
happy as the wife of Judson Patmore. Love is 
not possible between a man of seventy and a young 
woman of twenty. In such an alliance your life 
will be a disappointment, your ideals blighted, 
and all that is best in a man of his years will be 
unappreciated by you. And Margaret, love will 
come to you, and when it does, Judson Patmore 
will stand in its way. And there is more — the 
man himself. I know he has gold — ^unlimited 
wealth, I am told, but he is twice divorced, and 
you cannot escape the sequelae of this unfortunate 
condition, for the sorrows of humanity weigh so 
heavily sometimes that gold even is powerless to 
out-balance them.’’ 

Thus frankly and emphatically exclaimed a 
beautiful dark eyed young woman to another — a 
fair haired blonde, her opposite in every appear- 
ance. They were seated upon a long sofa which 
had been drawn close to a north wdndow in one 
of the stately old mansions so much admired by 
travelers who pass up and down the river be- 
tween New York and Albany. It was a beautiful 


6 


THE ONE MAN 


place, and upon this October day it seemed most 
gloriously so from the abundance of autumn foli- 
age which at this season of the year makes no 
more charming place in the whole world than the 
old valley of the Hudson. And the silence, — it 
too was marked — ^for although hours from even- 
time the stillness was singularly impressive. So 
quiet was it that one could hear the leaves falling 
one by one upon the lawn which stretched out 
from the mansion to the park gates leading into 
the highway. 

‘‘But I shall marry Judson Patmore. I respect 
him, and — I may learn to — love him. You know 
that is the way sometimes. I am sure he is kind, 
and Fredrika — I shall have a place — I mean a 
place in society.^’ 

Fredrika interrupted her, ‘‘Margaret, you ad- 
mit now that you do not love him, and it is wrong, 
all wrong for you to sacrifice yourself to him for 
a place in society.’’ 

The words angered Margaret, and a somewhat 
excited discussion followed, which ended when she 
declared: “And you, Fredrika Yon Hoffman, shall 
never know why I do this. It is a secret lying 
deep within my own heart. Women of your class 
do not understand.” 

Fredrika felt the bitterness of the words : 
“women of your class” and asked for an expla- 
nation. 

Margaret bit her coral lips. An explanation! 
She wondered if she could give one without tell- 
ing her all? She would tell her a little, just 
enough to enable her to understand something of 


THE ONE MAN 


7 


the temptation and the sacrifice. Just enough to 
bring her into a closer sympathy with the ambi- 
tions of the poor. And her voice softened when 
she found the words : 

‘‘Fredrika, an explanation even in part will 
hurt you, as it will hurt me to give it. We have 
said much already, but if you insist it shall be 
given.” 

Again Fredrika demanded the explanation and 
she urged her to be frank, assuring her that it 
was best for her to know the truth. 

Margaret’s eyes fell, and bursting into tears 
she threw herself at Fredrika ’s feet. Ah, no, she 
could not tell her, her kind and beautiful bene- 
factress ! 

But Fredrika insisted, and between sobs she 
heard these words: ''If you — ^had only — left me — 
in my own class, — with my own — people, Fred- 
rika. If you had left me — ^there — to have — 
worked out my life — I mean — the life — ^the social 
— life to which I was born.” 

Fredrika did not speak, and for some moments 
the girl wept on. At last she looked up into 
Fredrika ’s face, and again the tears fell bitterly. 
"I knew you would not understand, — I knew it 
would be this way, Fredrika.” 

Still Fredrika made no reply. 

Margaret now grasped her hands. She would 
speak ; and she would not weep, for had not Fred- 
rika said a cruel thing to her? "Yes,” she cried, 
"and it was my undoing. It has made you even 
say to me that when I found love it would not be 
for the man who is to be my husband.” 


8 


THE ONE MAN 


She saw that Fredrika felt the rebuke, and she 
did not wait for her to speak. ‘‘But let us for- 
get it/^ she said, “I have already said too much. 
I knew you would not understand. Ah, no, no 
one but the poor can understand.’^ 

Fredrika looked into her face pityingly, and un- 
loosed Margaret’s hands. Both rose to their feet 
and Margaret turned towards the door, expecting 
to be forever banished from the home which had 
been hers for many years. Upon the threshold 
she paused as if to say good-bye; but at that in- 
stant Fredrika was at her side. “Oh, Margaret,” 
she cried, “do not go. Stay and tell me every- 
thing; for if in this heart of mine, or in the 
hearts of those about me there is anything which 
has given you one moment of unhappiness I 
must know it. Say what you will, Margaret, and 
I will love you better for your frankness. ’ ’ 

The blue eyes were overflowing. She had 
looked for retort, reproof, but she now followed 
Fredrika to the sofa near the window and with 
her golden head resting upon the shoulder of the 
noble girl beside her she reviewed the pages of 
her short and restless life. 

It was one familiar to all, and but one of thou- 
sands which are daily breaking the hearts of 
men and women. She spoke softly, earnestly, as 
she pictured the real differences — from the social 
view point — ^between the rich and poor; between 
the family in the mansion where she was now a 
guest, and her own, in the old flsherman’s cottage 
less than a mile away. She talked of her child- 
hood, innocently happy, when with other children 


THE ONE MAN 


9 


she had gathered pebbles on the beach and 
laughed the livelong day. She pictured her father 
also, grim fisherman though he was, as a very king 
among men. She told of that day, when for the 
first time she heard her step-mother repining 
over the bitterness of poverty, and in a restless 
ambition declare that ‘‘Margaret should not suf- 
fer as she had done; that any life was better 
than one of such deprivation as she had known. 
She reviewed the incidents of a bright June 
morning — the day upon which Fredrika had 
reined her horse close to the fence and asked her 
for the strawberries she had picked in the old 
meadow white with daisies. She recalled the 
many succeeding days, when, as neighbors, they 
had exchanged the casual salutations which 
afterward had grown into a deeper friendship. 
And then of a well remembered day when she — 
Fredrika, had come to their humble cottage and 
asked the father and mother to permit her to be- 
come her protege that she might educate her and 
be to her as a sister. She lingered over the 
memories of the years which followed, of their 
college life and all their joys in common. 

Fredrika listened thoughtfully. 

Margaret paused a moment as if dreaming 
herself of those happy days. Then she began 
speaking again. Of the travel in foreign lands, 
of the delightful equality of both in Old World 
society. And then she lingered over the home 
coming, and the pleasurable anticipation in meet- 
ing her father and mother. She recalled how 
proud they seemed of her. And it was all so de- 


10 


THE ONE MAN 


lightful until a certain day upon which she had 
heard her father say: ^‘It was a mistake. A mis- 
take. God grant that it he not her undoing.^’ 

Her tears were falling fast, and only between 
sobs which convulsed her delicate frame was she 
able to continue her confession. 

‘‘And Fredrika, it was a mistake. Do not re- 
prove me. Do not think me ungrateful. It was 
all so delightful then, and you meant well, but 
you did not know what the results would be, 
what it would some day mean to me.’’ She had 
grasped Fredrika ’s hand as if to assure herself 
that she could go on. 

“Oh, how hard it is for me to tell you of this 
terrible unrest; of the intellectual gulf which 
separates me from my father and mother ; of the 
discontent, even with my own home — my father’s 
house — which by every human tie should he 
sacred to me. Of the longing to be something, 
someone whom I am not; of the inner desire to 
now reach a social plane to which I was not horn ; 
of yearnings for an existence so far beyond my 
birthright and my surroundings as to bring me in 
rebellion with my own ideals, causing me to sup- 
press them, to kill them, even my ideals of love, 
because of the impossibility of their realiza- 
tion” — 

Fredrika drew her hand away. She leaned 
back against the sofa in her agitation. 

“Ah, I knew you would despise me if I told 
you.” She said it pityingly, and reached for- 
ward to grasp her arm. “But even if you do, you 
will better understand why I cannot take your 


THE ONE MAN 


11 


advice when you ask me not to marry Judson 
Patmore. ’ ’ 

She dropped her voice. ‘^Yes, Fredrika, I 
know how terrible it seems to you, how horrify- 
ing it is to you, and yet you cannot fail to see 
how differently, as his wife, my social position 
will be than it is now, — the daughter of an old 
fisherman. ’ ’ 

She repeated the words half sneeringly: ‘‘The 
daughter of an old fisherman; a young woman 
whom none of your class would condescend to 
marry. Ah! no; that would be a disgrace. It 
would mean social and family ostracism for the 
one and nothing but a life of regret and unhappi- 
ness for the other.’’ 

She took her hand from Fredrika ’s arm, and 
leaned away from her. 

“What then is left for me?” she said after a 
moment. 

She answered the question herself. 

“Only two ways, and to-day I am at the part- 
ing thereof. I am choosing the least sinful. I 
shall marry Judson Patmore.” 

Fredrika gazed at her with varied feeling. She 
had not once spoken. 

Margaret’s face fell; her voice faltered; a look 
of intense shame and bitterness spread across her 
face. 

Fredika leaned toward her. 

“Margaret, I — ” 

“Oh, do not speak! Do not chastise me! Also 
doubt me not; for I shall be true, Fredrika. My 
religion teaches me fidelity in marriage. It 


12 


THE ONE MAN 


teaches me faith, even in the darkest night. It 
teaches me patience, and hope’’ — 

Fredrika grasped her hand. She knew that 
Margaret was suffering. Oh that she would 
change her mind! She was sure she could adjust 
the social matters, sure that she could arrange 
a better marriage. ‘‘Your church, Margaret. 
You cannot marry this man!” 

“Yes, I know what you mean, Fredrika. I 
know that the church does not sanction a mar- 
riage such as mine, marriage with a divorced 
man.” She spoke rapidly. Her heart was beat- 
ing heavily against her breast; and she rose as 
she finished the sentence, “but God still lives, 
and His mercy will extend even unto me. ’ ’ 
Without another word she stooped and kissed 
Fredrika, and then hurriedly glided from the 
room, down the long hall, and out through the 
massive door, which bore upon its plate the an- 
cient placard: 

^‘Open not for, neither close thyself upon dis- 
honor/' 


CHAPTER II. 

When Margaret reached the crest of the hill 
on her way home, she sat down upon a shelved 
rock beneath a cluster of maples and looked back 


THE ONE MAN 


13 


at the beautiful home in the distance. She almost 
regretted her rude departure and wondered if 
she had made a mistake. 

After another moment the indignation which 
had suffused her cheeks and half dazed her brain 
subsided. She looked around and picking up 
some of the most beautifully tinted and perfect 
leaves, she broke off their stems and began pin- 
ning them together as she had often done in her 
childhood. 

When she had completed a long garland, she 
laid it down upon the rock beside her, and quite 
unconscious of her position near the public high- 
way, said aloud: 

''I wonder if Fredrika will ever be the same to 
me again ? I wonder if it will ever seem the same 
to me in that beautiful home I love so well?’’ 

For a moment she rested her head upon her 
hand. ‘^Ah,” she said, '‘it might have been dif- 
ferent! Yes, it might have been my home, too; 
my happy home if he had dared to speak. No, 
not that, — if he had dared to face the world. 
I wonder why he never told me? Ah, he could 
not, he is too honorable, too honorable to declare 
his love, without bringing with it an offer of 
marriage. I must never more wonder at this, — 
such trifling is not for men like Herbert Yon 
Hoffman — ^he would die first. ’ ’ 

She fell to thinking again, and her cheeks 
which had been so purple, became as pale as 
death. 

For a few moments she lapsed into the silence 
of her own thoughts, then in faintly audible tones 


14 


THE ONE MAN 


she said: ‘‘Yes, I comprehend it all; I realize the 
social viewpoint well. But it is cruel, yes, ter- 
ribly so, to know that hearts like mine — ^like his 
— must break — or seal themselves forever — or 
else — that other way — ^the hidden love, which 
makes of homes such hells. 

She sighed, and then in a voice which told of 
intense bitterness she cried aloud: “Oh, wretched 
social state, wilt thou forever make gold the bar- 
rier between the hearts of men and women? Gold 
the merciless god which enslaves the world? 

She rose from her seat and looking again to- 
wards the Von Hoffman mansion, she sighed and 
said: 

‘ ‘ Sweet Fredrika ! She advises me against this 
marriage. She is noble and good; but like all 
others who belong to her class, she looks through 
the social glass darkly. Even she would have 
frowned upon my marriage with her brother ; she, 
who calls me sister, would not have welcomed me 
as the real sister, her brother's wife." 

Again she sat down upon the rock. It was 
a quiet place. 

“I wonder — I wonder why I think of this to- 
night, when within an hour I shall become the 
promised bride of another man? Why may I not 
forget him? Why does my heart pain me so?" 

She pressed her hand against her breast for a 
moment, drew one stifled breath and then in a 
half audible voice, a voice modulated with resig- 
nation she said: 

“But it is of no use. Go I surely must — an- 
other victim of the social guillotine! My inde- 


THE ONE MAN 


15 


pendence, my ideals, yes, even the highest emo- 
tions of my soul, sacrificed — sacrificed forever ! I 
told Fredrika that I believed that I could learn 
to love this man — perhaps I shall — I will try — • 
yes, I must try to love him/’ 

She bent her head into her hands for a mo- 
ment. There was a whispered prayer; the clos- 
ing words of which were wafted unto the gates 
of heaven: ‘‘God in Thy mercy help me! Oh, 
most Holy Mother intercede for me 1 ” Suddenly 
as if from a dream she looked up. She was face 
to face with Herbert Von Hoffman. 

“Dreaming, Margaret?” he gaily asked as he 
reined his horse up to the rock upon which she 
was sitting. 

As lightly she replied: “No, indeed, just rest- 
ing and making a garland for the handsomest 
horse in the Empire state.” And saying this, she 
rose and picking up the long wreath she care- 
lessly lifted it over the handsome creature’s 
head. 

“Beautiful, aren’t you, Colonel?” and she 
patted his nose and his sleek arching neck. The 
horses of the Von Hoffman stable knew her well, 
and Colonel appeared to appreciate her compli- 
ments and admiration. 

Herbert talked of the day and of the beautiful 
autumn forest tints, and then told her of the golf 
contest from which he was returning. She 
seemed not interested and almost abruptly she in- 
terrupted him by saying: “I am going home. It 
is growing late, and bidding him a hurried 
good-night, she walked rapidly away, disappear- 


16 


THE ONE MAN 


ing around the turn in the little lane leading 
down to her father’s cottage. 

The young man wheeled his horse into the 
highway and started him into a brisk canter, 
which soon brought him to the entrance gates of 
the Von Hoffman grounds. 

‘'Waiting for me, eh?” he said to his sister, 
whom he met walking leisurely down the avenue. 

“No,” replied Fredrika, “I ran down here to 
call Margaret back. We had a slight misunder- 
standing this afternoon, and she left the house so 
hurriedly that I thought to recall her; but she 
was too swift for me and I have been sitting here 
for some time. The breeze from the river seems 
delightfully refreshing. ’ ’ 

“By the way, I met Margaret down the road,” 
he said. “She was sitting on the big rock under 
the maples. I talked with her a moment, but she 
appeared to be in a hurry. She presented 
Colonel with the wreath he is wearing, and I 
thought myself that she seemed disinclined to 
talk. You say you had words with her, Fred- 
rika ? ’ ’ 

“No, not exactly that; just a slight difference 
of opinion. I’ll see her to-morrow and we will be 
the best of friends again. Herbert, I think Mar- 
garet has changed in the last few months. Do 
you see her often? Have you talked with her of 
late?” 

He did not reply directly, but made some re- 
mark about having not been at home of late. 

When he met his sister he had dismounted, and 
the two walked side by side up through the long 


THE ONE MAN 


17 


avenue to the house. The leaves crackled be- 
neath their feet; even Colonel seemed to enjoy 
the gorgeously colored carpet upon which he was 
treading. 

Upon reaching the south portico, an old colored 
servant met them, and taking ColoneUs bridle 
from Herbert’s hand led him to the stable. 

Herbert and Fredrika ascended the steps, and 
sat down together upon the short seat which 
formed one side of the quaint old porch. She had 
noticed when Samuel took the horse that her 
brother had carefuly lifted the garland of leaves 
from his neck, and hung them across the back of 
the veranda seat. She also thought that his face 
expressed a peculiar anxiousness, something en- 
tirely foreign to him, one of the most genial and 
optimistic of young men. She wondered if he 
was ill. 

''Herbert,” said Fredrika, after they had sat in 
silence for some time, "why are you so quiet to- 
night? You certainly do not seem yourself. Are 
you ill or tired?” 

"Slightly tired, sister,” he replied, "the game 
was unusually prolonged this afternoon.” 

She rose to go in the house. 

"Stay, Fredrika. Let us sit here awhile, for 
really such an autumn picture as stretches for 
miles in every direction is not to be seen in any 
land but ours.” For awhile he talked about the 
maples and the sumachs, and then of other lands 
and scenes, and finally lapsed again into the 
silence of his own thoughts. 

Fredrika sat quietly through perhaps a half 


18 


THE ONE MAN 


hour of this silence, then rose and again an- 
nounced her intention to go into the house. The 
fog was now rapidly rising and within a few min- 
utes the entire place was surrounded with a dense 
misty vapor, which followed the suddenly chilled 
atmosphere. 

He rose and followed her. The evening lamps 
were lighted and under them she observed that 
his face was pale. 

‘^You certainly are ill!’’ exclaimed Fredrika as 
he threw himself into a chair near the grate. ‘‘I 
never saw you look like this ; you must have over- 
done this afternoon. Please lie down a moment 
while I go and see if Mary can serve dinner.” 

‘‘Poor Mary! How patient the dear creature 
is with us, sister. It is past eight o’clock,” he re- 
plied as he threw himself down upon a nearby 
sofa. 

Fredrika again asked if there was anything 
she could do for him, but again he insisted that 
he was all right, that all he needed was a good 
dinner, his cigar and a good night’s rest. “And 
I shall sleep too,” he said, “for as a soporific 
nothing ever excelled this autumnal atmos- 
phere.” 

Fredrika was still standing near him. She 
looked as if doubting him. 

“Sister,” he said as he arose from the sofa, “I 
believe you are falling into the worry habit, 
which so many women have if their husbands, 
brothers and sons do not always act or look nat- 
ural. Men like to be silent sometimes. Believe 
me, I am not ill. Please, Fredrika, don’t coddle 


THE ONE MAN 


19 


me. I shall take you out on the links tomorrow, 
dear, and then you will not look so dimly through 
those beautiful eyes.’’ 

Fredrika left the room and a few moments later 
dinner was announced. He had gone upstairs 
during her absence and made a hasty toilet. To- 
gether they partook of the dinner in silence. 
One by one the courses were served, and almost 
untouched, were returned to the kitchen. The 
old butler and the faithful Mary shook their 
heads. They knew that something was wrong. 

Long into the night they sat and talked, their 
work undone. 

Together they reviewed the long years during 
which neither had scarcely left that home. They 
recalled an April morning in the long ago, when 
together with the family they had followed a 
patient mother to her last resting place in the old 
churchyard down the valley; and then with tear- 
ful eyes they lingered over the memories of an- 
other day, when with these children, they had 
knelt at the death bed of the revered father — 
their master. 

For years they had wept with, prayed for, and 
lovingly served this orphaned brother and sister; 
and intuitively they understood that something 
troubled them. Never before had such appetizing 
food remained untouched. Never before had 
they observed such a silent dinner hour. Never 
before had there seemed such an atmosphere of 
depression over that happy home. When they 
left the dining room, Herbert accompanied Fred- 
rika to the library, and taking a cigar from his 


20 


THE ONE MAN 


pocket, asked to be excused while he smoked. 

She took up a late magazine, and sat down 
in one of the easy chairs. She tried to read, but 
could not ; her thoughts were constantly upon her 
brother. 

After leaving the room, he walked out on the 
spacious veranda facing the river. He had com- 
plained of fatigue, but for one hour Fredrika lis- 
tened to his measured steps as he walked forth 
and back its entire length. He was still smoking, 
for as he passed the window she would catch 
the fragrance of his Havana. 

‘'He is smoking,'’ she thought, “but he is also 
thinking ; and he is unusually absorbed. And he is 
not ill, else he would not walk." For a moment 
she put her hand up to her face. “No, he is not 
ill," she exclaimed aloud; “He is in trouble!" 
And in another instant she was hurrying down 
the hall. Nervously she opened the door and 
called: “Herbert! Herbert Von Hoffman! Why 
do you not come into the house? You have for- 
gotten me for more than an hour!" 

She walked down to the veranda where he was 
standing, and taking his hand, she said half re- 
provingly, “I do not understand why it takes 
you so much longer to smoke a cigar tonight than 
ever before. Do please come into the house, I 
am very lonely." 

He threw away the unfinished cigar, and fol- 
lowed her. He sat down near the library table 
and taking up a daily paper made some casual 
remark about an accident which had happened on 
the ocean. A moment later he picked up his cap 


THE ONE MAN 


21 


from where he had tossed it on the table, and 
said that he must go out to the kennels to see 
if Trixie would be in trim for the partridge hunt 
which he was contemplating on the morrow. 

After he had left the room, Fredrika was in a 
most nervous state. Up to this time she had re- 
frained from again speaking to him about his 
ill looks and his strange behavior. She would do 
so no longer. Some trouble which he was keep- 
ing from her, and which he did not want her 
to know was no doubt his excuse for going out 
to the kennels at that hour of the night. And 
then she recalled that Trixie was in the dining 
room at the dinner hour, and that even while he 
was on the veranda she had heard him calling 
her back from a passing carriage at which she 
was barking. 

^^It is but an excuse to keep me from talking 
to him,’’ she was saying in half audible tones. 
'^No, he does not want to talk to anyone tonight. 
It is not business and he is too sensible to let 
either club or social affairs annoy him.” She 
rose and walked rapidly down the room. She 
would go out to the kennels. She would make 
him tell her. 

For a moment she stood still as if not knowing 
what to do. She thought he might be angry 
with her if she followed him. Finally she heard 
his returning steps and hastened back into the 
library. 

He came into the room and as he passed her 
chair he patted her beautiful hair and in his 
usual manner said : 


22 


THE ONE MAN 


Lonely are you sister mine? How I have 
spoiled you. It’s chilly out tonight; a forerun- 
ner of a fine day tomorrow. Trixie and I have 
planned a glorious hunt on the ridge though and 
will be off while you are taking your beauty 
sleep. Just think of a partridge pie the next 
day! Won’t Mary be delighted? She’s by far 
the best game cook in this state. 

And thus he talked on and on : of field sports ; of 
the pleasures of rod and gun; of his dogs; and 
finally began relating the details of the golf game 
on the preceding afternoon. But it was all so 
forced, so unnatural, that he failed in his efforts 
to divert her mind in the least. 

Finally she looked up at the little clock on the 
mantel over the fireplace and remarked on the 
lateness of the hour. She would retire. She 
rose and bidding him ‘‘Good night,” walked out 
into the hall, up the long staircase to her 
chamber. 


CHAPTER HI. 

Fredrika entered her chamber, but not to sleep. 
The one which she called her own was one of 
those spacious oval rooms found in so many of 
the old mansions throughout the Empire state. 
For half a century its decorations and furnishings 
had not been changed. The elegant plaster mould- 
ings were as perfect as when first made, and the 
heavy paneled doors and casings were, even after 


THE ONE MAN 


23 


the long years, white as snow. The carpet was a 
rose design in Brussels weave, and the heavy ma- 
hogany furniture her mother’s wedding gift. The 
pink satin over-curtains and filmy window laces 
only were new, but everywhere daintiness and un- 
ostentatious elegance were in evidence, — all a fair 
setting to its stately occupant. 

For the first time in her life she was in a ner- 
vously strange mood. She thought what a terrible 
day she had passed through as she walked across 
the room to unfasten the window blinds. She 
looked out into the night. The moon was full 
and she could see plainly out beyond the bend in 
the river directly across from Margaret’s home. 
She threw open the window and leaned far out 
upon its ledge. She had forgotten her brother, 
and thought only of Margaret. 

What of this day? WTiat of the tomor- 
rows for this dear girl? She fell to reasoning 
again and her doubts and fears gave way to the 
more optimistic view. 

^‘Perhaps,” she said aloud, ^‘perhaps, I do not 
understand. Perhaps she can learn to love this 
old man.” 

She thought on and on: of Margaret and her 
possibilities. She even reproved herself for hav- 
ing spoken as she did that afternoon. Then her 
doubts came uppermost again and she exclaimed 
aloud : 

‘^No, it is impossible! It is impossible, how- 
ever much she may try, for Margaret to adjust her 
tastes, her interests, her mind, her love nature, 
her precious life to the fixed habits, to the al- 


24 


THE ONE MAN 


ready discernible senile, mental and physical 
states of Jndson Patmore ! It is not natural ! It 
is horrifying!’’ 

Again her thoughts became calm and she re- 
called the conversation of the preceding after- 
noon. She remembered an uncertain expression 
in Margaret’s face, a mysterious look in her 
eyes, as if there was more to tell. 

She rose and closed the window. 

wonder if there could have been ? But 

no 1 he was only like a brother. I am sure she 
does not love Herbert.” 

She sat down before the mirror of her dressing 
table and unloosed the dark masses of her lux- 
uriant hair. 

''Her own class! Ah I did not think that of 
Margare-t.” She thought a moment. "But not 
him — not Judson Patmore!” A fearful realiza- 
tion of it all came over her. She tossed back the 
glossy coils which hung over either side of her 
beautiful face and in angry vehemence she cried 
aloud: "No, it shall not be. Margaret shall not 
marry this old man. I will not permit it.” 

Suddenly her attention was called to the strik- 
ing of the golden clock on the mantel. It was 
two hours past midnight. The bright moonlight 
was filling the room with more than daylight 
splendor. She had no thought of sleeping. 

Her brother ! She had not thought of him be- 
fore. She stepped cautiously out into the hall 
and walked quietly towards his apartments. The 
door was open. Surely it was unusual. She 
looked and saw that he had not yet retired. 


THE ONE MAN 


25 


With a wildly beating heart she went rapidly 
down the stairs and into the library where she 
had left him. 

'‘Herbert! Herbert she cried, as she opened 
the door. 

He had evidently been asleep; for as she en- 
tered he lifted his head from the table where he 
had rested upon his folded arms. Walking over 
to him she took his hands in her own and knelt 
by his side. "Brother, you are in trouble,’’ she 
said. "Will you not tell me what it is?” 

She looked at him tenderly, pleadingly. She 
waited for him to speak but there came no an- 
swer. He only laid her head upon his knee, and 
together with an agonizing pressure of his hand 
upon her face, she felt the tears which fell upon 
her hair. She did not again solicit an answer. 
She wept with him; although she knew not why. 

At last he lifted his hands from her face; he 
seemed himself again, despite the long and weary 
night. She knew his sorrow when he asked her: 

"Fredrika, is it true that Margaret is going to 
marry Judson Patmore?” 

Fredrika had risen from her knees. She looked 
at him a moment, and going around to the oppo- 
site side of the table she replied: 

"Herbert, it may be true.” She hardly dared 
to say that it was true, that Margaret herself 
had told her it was true. 

Then he told her that he had loved Margaret 
for years, and how he had through pride, sealed 
his heart against it. Told her, how, after many 
struggles he had succeeded as he thought, until 


26 


THE ONE MAN 


on the day before when he had heard the rumor 
of her marriage to another: — and that other, an 
old man, whom he knew she did not, — could not 
love. 

She leaned back in the chair she had taken 
when he began to speak and looked intently into 
his face. He went on to tell her of his remorse; 
of his returning love; of his misery; and of his 
despair. 

Still Fredrika did not speak. 

‘‘Yes, Fredrika, more than any man have I 
been made to feel in all its keenness that wealth, 
and what is called society, demands too much, 
when it enslaves the hearts of men and women. I 
have been a fool Fredrika,’’ he cried, “a slave; 
and society shall have no more of me. It is an ex- 
perience full of bitterness, for Fredrika I know 
that she loves me. And it is for her own happi- 
ness, her own safety, as well as for my own 
heart’s sake that I must go away if this be true.” 

He bowed his head upon his hands for a few 
moments, and when he looked up he said: 

“Sister, it is not as God would have it. Unto 
Him will I turn for help.” 

Fredrika looked at him in astonishment. Had 
his reason fled? She did not know that he even 
believed in God. 

The experiences of the last few hours had com- 
pletely unbalanced her nerves and she began to 
weep. She reproved herself for her stupidity. 

“Oh, Herbert,” she said at last: “How short 
sighted I have been not to observe this. And how 
^^PPy I should have been with Margaret as my 


THE ONE MAN 


27 


real sister. That was what she meant yesterday 
when she said that society was cruel. How blind 
I was to not have understood all this ; and saved 
her for you, saved you both for each other.’’ 

Fredrika paused for a moment. 

^ ‘ I wonder why she did not confide in me ? ’ ’ she 
was saying a moment later. ‘‘But no, she could 
uot do that. She could not tell me that she 
loved you, Herbert!” And then the beautiful 
young woman bowed her head upon her hands 
and wept, — for Margaret. 

Her brother leaned back against his chair. He 
was silent. He was thinking — ^not so much of wo- 
man ’s love, as of woman’s sympathy. 

Suddenly Fredrika raised her head, and with 
tears streaming from her eyes, she said reprov- 
ingly: “But Herbert, why did you not speak? 
Why did you not tell her how much you loved 
her? Why did you not save her from this hate- 
ful marriage with Mr. Patmore? Why did you 
not tell me Herbert? — ” 

He did not reply. His sister’s grief for Mar- 
garet seemed quite as strange a thing that hour 
as her apparent indifference to his suffering. 
Tears for her, he thought, reproof only for me. 

Rising from his chair he walked over to a win- 
dow. He looked out into the gray morning and 
it was some time before he spoke. Finally he 
said : 

“Fredrika, I thought you understood more, — 
that is, — understood better how the world looks 
upon such love as mine. You seem not to know 
that if I had professed my love for Margaret, or 


28 


THE ONE MAN 


had I paid her the slightest attention that the 
entire countryside would have rung with news 
of the latest prospective mesalliance; and had I 
not married her at once, she would have been 
robbed of her good name. If she had become my 
wife, then our friends, our society friends would 
have made her miserable, as they have many an- 
other. Margaret Sullivan is the most beautiful, 
one of the most highly learned, the sweetest girl 
in the state, but because her father happens to 
be a poor old river-fisherman, and her foster- 
mother washes the laces and fine linens of our 
friends, society frowns upon her, and would guy 
the man who would make her his wife.’^ 

He was walking the fioor. He was bitterly em- 
phasizing the word ‘‘society.’^ 

‘‘Ah, how I despise all that it means. But for 
you, sister, for my family name, for a pride which 
has been my heritage, for the opinion of my asso- 
ciates, I have sacrificed the very best in my 
nature. ’ ’ 

He looked the degradation which he felt. He 
paused and stood beside her. 

‘Ht is a false education, Fredrika: the most 
damnable of unwritten social decrees. It results 
in slavery — slavery of the natural emotions of 
men and women 

Fredrika was looking at him in the silence of 
a restrained indignation. 

^‘Sister,’’ he said after a moment, do not 
wonder that you stare at me ; that you offer me 
no word of pity or of sympathy. I have looked 
for it, but I cannot ask it of you. I understand 


THE ONE MAN 


29 


now, and I admire yonr feeling for Margaret. 
Men like myself deserve the scorn of every high 
minded woman.’’ 

Fredrika still sat motionless. Her eyes had 
become as black as night. Her olive skin was 
pale as death. Her hands were clinched. Her 
face the picture of despair. What a revelation! 
At last she had grasped the meaning of it all. 
Would society, — the world, ever have a charm 
for her again? 

He was shading his eyes with his hands. His 
heart was full. His confession was not yet fin- 
ished. 

'^Fredrika, I shall never forget the sadness in 
her face last night,” he said as he lowered his 
hand and looked up into his sister’s eyes. ‘^She 
had, as I told you, been making a wreath of au- 
tumn leaves. I came upon her quite suddenly, 
for the road has a short turn at that point; and 
in her haste to rise her hair fell over her shoul- 
ders. With its masses she vainly attempted to 
conceal the tears which were yet wet upon her 
cheeks. Finally, in her confusion she turned her 
face from me and buried it in Colonel’s neck. 
Then she patted him for a moment and throwing 
the garland over his head, bade me a hurried 
good night and walked rapidly away.” 

He paused a moment. His face had become 
pale with unspoken emotion. He rose and 
walked up and down the room for a few moments 
and then came closer to Fredrika. His voice was 
scarcely audible. 

‘‘Fredrika,” he said, “that wreath of autumn 


30 


THE ONE MAN 


leaves is lying on the south veranda. It is wet 
with the dew of a night, such as I trust may 
never come to me again. Keep it for me sister, 
for it is all I have of Margaret. Keep it for 
me, though it reminds you of my despair!’^ 

Fredrika said nothing. 

He went on: ‘‘No, there will be no more love 
for me Fredrika. Alone I shall atone for this; 
for this false, inhuman pride which has won out 
against my heart.’’ 

He came closer to her. “Sister, why do you 
not speak?” He seized her hand imploringly. 

Still she answered him not. 

Then he knelt beside her. He laid his hand- 
some face upon her hand, the one he was grasp- 
ing so fervently. He took the other and pressed 
it tightly upon his brow. His black wavy hair, 
usually so well cared for, was damp and unkempt 
from the mental agony of this never to be forgot- 
ten night. Silently, like a child at its mother’s 
knee, he wept out the agony of the hour. 

When he looked up, the birds were sweetly 
singing in the trees, and the sun was rapidly 
lighting the room. Fredrika had not yet spoken ; 
but he knew by the tender pressure of her hand, 
by the kiss so reverently pressed upon his brow, 
that she understood it all. 

He rose and without another word went quietly 
to his room. After he had gone Fredrika went 
to the window and opened it. She looked out 
into the morning ; then turned away, and walking 
out of the library, she hastened down the long 
hall to the veranda. She picked up the wreath, 


THE ONE MAN 


31 


threw it over her arm and walked on down upon 
the terrace near the river. There was no sleep 
for her. Her very soul was on fire. Leaning 
against the century-old stone wall she looked out 
across the slow moving current, crying aloud: 

‘‘What of this night? What of to-morrow? 
What of the days to come for those I love?’’ 


CHAPTER IV. 

When the day broke upon the palatial home of 
this unhappy brother and sister, its dim light 
also penetrated through the small window-panes 
of the little cottage down under the hill. And 
in the quiet of that October morning, to still an- 
other came the news of Margaret’s prospective 
marriage to Judson Patmore. 

At the breakfast table Margaret’s stepmother 
opened the conversation of the morning by say- 
ing: 

“Indade, Michael, the girrul has made a foine 
sayliction. Ye might say that she’s fell into 
a very tub iv gold.” 

“But Mary, marriage is out iv th’ question,” 
replied the kindly old gentleman thus addressed. 
“The man is a divorced person. There’s a wife 
somewhere ; children very likely. An ’ such being 
the case no praste will iver perform th’ marriage 
ceremony; an’ furthermore no good can iver 
come to wan iv our people unless the vow is given 
under th’ blessing iv th’ Holy Church.” 


32 


THE ONE MAN 


'^Indade, an’ Oi know as well as ye do yer- 
silf, that no praste will iver perform th’ cere- 
mony; but there are ither prastes, an’ ither 
churches; an’ fur me own part, Oi’d rather see 
that girrul well settled in loife as th’ rayspectable 
companion iv a divorced gentleman iv means than 
to ’ave ’er foriver as poor as a church mouse be- 
longing to th’ bist churchman in th’ state. Oi’ve 
outgrown many things, Michael, an’ wan iv them 
is th’ marriage contract. Oi’ve also seen a great 
dale in my loife sir; an’ shure it is Oi’ am, that 
divorced men can’t make much worse husbands 
than whin ivery thing goes along in th’ per- 
fectly natural way.” 

Michael gave her a piercing look. 

‘‘An it’s saying nothing against yez nayther, 
sir. You an’ me ’ave got along tolerably well, 
me dear; Oi’ve giner’ly ’ad me own way; an’ yez 
’ave iver done th’ bist that yez cud under th’ 
circumstances iv yer pocket-boot. But, th’ more 
Oi’m seein’ iv th’ worruld, th’ more Oi’m con- 
vinced that ther’ are things which Oi’ll nivermore 
tolerate, even in a man as good as yersilf.” 

He did not argue the question with her. He 
was too wise; and she went on to talk of Mar- 
garet. 

“It was all settled last night, sir; an’ she’s 
sthill dramin’ iv th’ grand days to come. It is 
indade th’ verry greatest iv honor to ’ave sich a 
rich person as Judson Patmore confer an offer iv 
marriage on a girrul of ’er circumstances. Ye’ve 
always opposed th’ great eddication she got, but 
now yez can see fur yersilf what th’ loike iv it. 


THE ONE MAN 


33 


togither with beauty, will do fur a poor girrul. 
An^ yez can daypind on whativer Oi say, that 
whin she’s th’ misthriss iv th’ big mansion on th’ 
’ill, an’ th’ ither illigant ’omes all over th’ land 
which belong to ’im, that th’ quistion iv a pra- 
ceedin’ marriage, er wither a praste performed th’ 
prisint ceremony er not, will niver at all be ques- 
tioned.” 

She paused long enough to pour her husband 
a second cup of tea. He put an extra spoonful 
of sugar in it, still listening as she went on: 

‘‘Oi tell yez, Michael, that money is th’ verry 
bist thing in all this dear worruld. It paves th’ 
way into all kinds iv th’ bist circles iv society, 
an’ it covers up a multitude iv sins niver found 
out. Why! it’s made a dale iv difference already 
in mesilf 1 On th’ day Oi was clanin’ th’ windows 
up at Judge Arnold’s, Oi overheard th’ great man 
say to ’is wife: ‘It is hard worruk an’ frugality 
in wan gineration, money an’ sthyle in anither, 
riches and daygineracy in th’ third; and nixt yez 
’ave poverty an’ a bit iv sinse, an’ so on it goes 
foriver an’ iver.’ I’m sure it was the loike iv 
oursilves he meant, an’ iv any family desarves 
riches an’ daygineracy it is oursilves.” 

Michael smiled; but a moment later his face 
wore a look of bitterness. His wife did not ob- 
serve his emotions, for she still kept on. 

“Niver bayfore did Oi rayceive sich attintions 
from this noted family. Mrs. Arnold, ’erself, hon- 
ored me with a foine cup iv tay ; and Michael, Oi 
can see through it all as th’ result iv th’ cornin’ 
marriage iv our daughter with Mr. Patmore. 


34 


THE ONE MAN 


Yez will yersilf, yit, be an honored mimber iv 
society, all because iv th' verry evint yer thryin’ 
to sthop.” 

The old fisherman rose from the breakfast 
table, took a tobacco pouch from his pocket, went 
over to a shelf built in the corner and taking 
therefrom a corncob pipe, sat down in an old- 
fashioned straight-backed rocking chair, which 
stood near the stove. 

He smoked for a long time in silence ; and one 
looking at him, filled as he was with suppressed 
emotion, could see in his well rounded features, 
in his high forehead, in his firm clean cut mouth, 
in his kind serious Celtic blue eyes, even in the 
very attitude in which he sat in his chair and 
held his pipe, that he represented a high type 
of that noble race so often to be seen among 
American workingmen; a type bespeaking aristo- 
cratic lineage ; yea, even kingly descent. 

He smoked on and on, long after the tobacco 
was consumed; and it would not have been diffi- 
cult for any one familiar with the thoughts of 
men to know of what he dreamed. 

Finally he aroused himself, and looking up at 
his wife who had been busying herself with her 
morning ’s work said : 

‘'Mary, sit ye down a moment. 

The woman wiped her brow with the corner 
of her apron and did as she was bid. 

“Mary, it is not iv Church or iv prastes that I 
want to spake, but iv something just as sacred. 
Mary,— Margaret does not love this old man. It 
is not natural 




THE ONE MAN 


35 


how do yez know that, sir?’’ replied the 
woman. ^‘An’ why shouldn’t she love the verry 
airth upon which he steps? Perhaps ye-ve not 
seen th’ beautiful diamond ’alf as big as yer eye 
a sparklin’ on ’er finger. An’ look yez ’ere, if 
ye plase.” And saying this she rose and opened 
a long box which stood on a little table near the 
wall. 

She took them out, one by one — a dozen Amer- 
ican Beauties. 

‘‘They’re worth their weight in gold, sir, and 
they’re cornin’ to the darlin’ ivery mornin’. An’ 
th’ beautiful clothes what she’s goin’ to wear; 
what ’ll make ’er a queen indade in ’er own right ; 
and all, ivery blissid thing, a prisint from th’ 
man iv ’er choice. An’ thin there is th’ foine 
’orses an’ carriages, an’ ivery other thing under 
th’ verry light iv hiven itself to make ’er happy 
an’ continted. Oi’m thinkin’ she should worship 
th’ verry ground upon which he is walkin’. 
Ye’re askin’ a verry foolish question, Michael, 
fur ’aven’t yez heard years ago that it was far 
better to be an old man’s darlin’ than a young 
man’s slave?” 

He avoided the glance of her snapping eyes. 
He did not answer her. She gave him no chance. 

“Oi’ve had no talk with th’ gintlemin, himsilf, 
at all, but after he wint away last night — after 
th’ ingagemint was over, Oi wint mysilf into th’ 
room. ‘Mother,’ she said, ‘you an’ father are 
goin’ to live in th’ grand ’ouse on th’ ill.’ She 
said that yez cud sell the boat, an’ th’ cow, an’ 
th’ pig, an’ kape ’ouse fur thim, with niver a 


36 


THE ONE MAN 


day^s worruk fur wan iv us. Why, Michael Sul- 
livan, it’s loike a great fairy tale, so it is; an’ Oi 
do not understand why ye’re not dancin’ a jig 
instead iv faylin’ as ye do.” 

He smiled; but it told of an aching heart; a 
smile of sarcasm, melting away into facial lines 
o:^ hopeless sorrow. 

‘'An’ Oi’ve not th’ least doubt, sir, but that 
’e’ll be givin’ yez wan iv ’is famous bull-terriers, 
sich as all th’ big wans ’ave around ’ere; and iv 
yez don’t mind, Michael, Oi’ll jist be makin’ away 
with that humbly auld dog that ye’ve ’ad around 
’ere so long.” 

The old fisherman gave her one look, rose from 
his chair, laid his pipe on the shelf and glanced 
out of the window. 

“Come ’ere Curly, old fellow!” he said; and 
the old water spaniel whose eyes had not once 
left his master since he had risen from his bed 
that morning, got up from the fioor and slowly 
walked over to his side. One could not fail to 
see that his head hung unusually low, that his 
ears seemed to drag upon the fioor, and his faded 
brown eyes dared not look up except slyly from 
underneath the tangled top-not which hung in 
massive fringes to his nose. He crouched at the 
old fisherman’s feet; but his expressive tail spoke 
not of fear. He knew that his master loved him. 

The old man sat down in a small chintz covered 
chair in front of the window ; so low it was that 
Curly came between his knees, and rested his 
head upon his arm. For awhile he looked out of 
the window. In the distance he could see the 


THE ONE MAN 


37 


magnificent country estate of the man, who his 
wife said, was going to marry Margaret. He 
looked so long that the dog with a whining sigh 
laid himself down at his master ^s feet. Both were 
apparently dreaming. 

Was Michael Sullivan thinking of the time 
when he would be sub-master of that palatial 
mansion? Was he dreaming of hours of rest in 
place of toil? Of gold to be had for the asking? 
Of adulation and honor in place of obscurity and 
poverty ? 

No! hardly; for he had turned away from it 
all, and as his wife entered the room, he ad- 
dressed her in a voice which spoke — not of am- 
bition, but of misery and despair. 

‘^Mary,” he said; ‘^OiVe something to tell 
yez; fur it's better that yez see a bit iv th' dark- 
ness here." 

He had risen and was walking the floor. Her 
mouth had relaxed into a scornful smile. She 
stood with one hand upon the table near the 
door. 

''Woman rayjoice yez not," he said turning 
towards her. "Rather pray with me, that our 
poor child be saved from a marriage with this 
man." 

"Nonsense!" replied the woman. 

He turned upon her a pleading look. "Listen," 
he said, "until yez know th' truth. It was in 
me 'eart to kape th' secret, fur, Mary, she knows 
not that Oi witnessed 'er despair." 

She looked at him inquisitively. 

"Yes, yez must know all that Oi saw an' 'eard. 


38 


THE ONE MAN 


Then will yez understhand me better; fur me 
auld ^eart is shure breakin’ in sorrow fur me 
child. They tell us, Mary, that iv’ry cloud ’as a 
silver sheen behind it ; but in the wan now ’ang- 
in’ above us, there will be no brightness on th’ 
ither side. Nay, instead it will grow darker an’ 
’eavier. In time it will envelope ’er young loife 
in deepest night.” 

Mary’s face expressed surprise and suppressed 
fear. Never had she seen her husband so agi- 
tated. She sat down in the straight backed chair 
and quietly watched him as he crossed and re- 
crossed the room. The old spaniel also was 
watching him; in fact, he had not during the 
morning taken his eyes off his master, except to 
give his mistress an occasional flashing glance. 

Finally she spoke: ^‘An’ what do yez mane, 
Michael? Iv what in this worruld are yez talk- 
in’?” He felt a certain pity in her voice. 

‘Ht was last night, Mary,” he said, taking a 
chair near hers. ^'Oi’ met with a little mishap 
to my boat; she tore away from ’er moorin’s an’ 
floated back into the tall grass below the nar- 
row walk going ’round th’ cliff. Oi experienced 
some difficulty in extricatin’ ’er, an’ sat down to 
rest mesilf a bit. Suddenly Oi ’card a voice 
above me ’ead. Oi listened a moment. I looked 
up. An’, Mary, it was me child, me little Mar- 
garet. Me ’eart sthood sthill. May God in ’Is 
mercy forgive me fur listening to ’er prayer.” 

Mary folded her hands. She was listening at- 
tentively. 

'Oh, Holy Mother iv God,’ she cried, 'Thou 


THE ONE MAN 


39 


who knowest th’ ’earts iv woman-kind, kape Thou 
me secret from th’ worruld! To wed another 
is me fate ! But to love ! Oh, Thou knowest ! 
Let me not spake ’is name! But most Holy One 
help me to he true. Kape iver near. An’ if not 
in loife — in death.’ Oi ’eard no more,” he said 
in a voice full of anguish. ‘^An’ now Mary, yez 
can well understhand me sorrow. Yez can also 
see that no good, no ’appiness can iver come to 
me dear child.” 

Mary tried to speak, hut he interrupted her. 

‘^No, no!” he cried: ‘^Commend it not; for 
above all princely gifts, above th’ gold, above th’ 
sanction even iv our Holy Church, there must be 
love !” 

In his agitation he had risen from his chair and 
was again walking the floor. Suddenly he 
turned, and going to the door as if to go out, 
he stood for a moment with one hand upon the 
latch and then raising the other above his head 
he cried: 

'‘An’ Mary, I swear that Margaret shall not 
marry this old man. She is bone iv me bone, 
flesh iv me flesh, an’ Oi cannot sthand it! May 
God in His Mercy take ’er! May the Blessed 
Mother, who ’as ’er ’eart in sacred kapin’ inter- 
cede. Even Oi, ’er poor auld father, will pray 
that she may die rather than marry Judson Pat- 
more with all ’is millions.” 

Mary felt his agitation. "Sit ye down a bit,” 
she said in a tone of voice which indicated that 
she desired to calm him. "Sit yez down a bit, 
Michael, and let me tell ye, that all ye’ve spoken 


40 


THE ONE MAN 


iv, is not new at all to mesilf. An’ shure she’ll 
git over th’ love she ’as fur th’ young man; fur 
that is all what it manes, sir. Yez niver ’ave 
understhood socity as well as Oi, mesilf, or ye’d 
know jist why she wint an’ saylicted th’ man that 
she has. Oi belave mesilf that Mr. Von Holf- 
man does love th’ child, an’ it was fully three 
years ago whin Oi discovered ’er love fur ’im; 
but even thin she told me that min loike himsilf 
rarely married outside their own class, an’ Oi’ve 
helped ’er all Oi cud to kill out th’ sintimint in- 
tirely. ’ ’ 

She paused to regain her breath. She was 
speaking rapidly and emphatically. 

‘‘Socity, Michael, is a verry sthrange cray- 
thure whin it comes to ’earts. An’ ye may as 
well know that Margaret Sullivan, th’ auld fish- 
erman’s daughter, today, can’t marry th’ man 
she wants ’alf as well as Margaret, th’ young an’ 
beauthiful widow iv a few years to come. It’s 
mesilf that’s far-seein’, Michael. It’s only an- 
ither case iv risin’ on th’ steppin’ stones iv wan’s 
dead silf to ’igher circumstances; and it’s a lucky 
day fur th’ child whin that rich auld man say- 
licted ’er fur th’ darlin’ iv ’is ’eart.” 

The old fisherman made no reply. She had 
tried to comfort him, but in her words he realized 
as never before the real character of the woman 
whom he had selected to become Margaret’s step- 
mother. 

He had not moved while she was speaking ; but 
when she finished, he lifted the latch and opened 
the door. She looked out of the window and saw 


THE ONE MAN 


41 


him feebly descending the garden path, the faded 
out, old spaniel following closely at his heels. A 
moment later they disappeared into the garden 
which sloped down towards the river. 

His old boat was moored at its accustomed 
place and seemed to rock impatiently for re- 
lease. He bent over and placed one hand upon 
her side, saying: ‘‘Maggie, Oi cannot worruk to- 
day, an’ Oi cannot stay at ’ome.” The inani- 
mate thing appeared to understand; it became 
quiet while the old man stepped in and took his 
accustomed seat. 

Slowly and gently it carried him well out into 
the stream and then drifted down the river to- 
wards the bay. 

Occasionally the skiff would jerk as if to re- 
mind him of his silence; for upon no other day 
had he failed to pet her and treat her as a chum. 

But to-day the old fisherman was dreaming. 
He was not thinking of “Maggie,” nor was he 
interested in the boats of rival fishermen. Even 
the gaily decorated yachts, and the swift 
launches with their laughing occupants had no 
charm for him. It was his only hope. It would, 
preserve his reason which at times had almost 
left him during the last few hours. 

He was again a boy in that old home across 
the sea. And as if Wt yesterday, he saw the 
bright garden fiowers, the green grass, and the 
little wooden gate which opened through a 
greener hedge growing near the door. He lived 
over again his last days in this happy place. He 
remembered the sad farewells. He saw himself 


42 


THE ONE MAN 


among others from the Emerald Isle landing in 
the great American metropolis. He recalled his 
hopes, and his ambitions, and felt again the lone- 
liness and the homesick days. Somehow his 
heart beat to-day as it did so long ago. 

He lived over the succeeding years; years 
through which he worked early and late; and of 
that day when rich in the possession of a few 
hundred dollars, he joyously returned to the old 
home for the purpose of bringing back with him 
a laughing, hlue-eyed girl, another Margaret, — 
his boyhood’s ideal. 

Oh, what happy days! The winning; the be- 
trothal ; the sacred vow ; the ceremony in the par- 
ish church ; the blessing of the Priest 1 And then 
the return voyage accompanied by the sweet 
young bride. And those never to be forgotten 
days in the little home amid the massive trees 
/ along the sound. Ah, the happiness of that time 1 
^ Too precious to last! 

He sighed and his head fell upon his breast; 
for he saw another picture which filled him with 
despair. 

It was the evening of a day when a precious 
life went out. The life of a beautiful girl bride, 
who came with him across the sea; an hour in 
which God exchanged the old for a new Mar- 
garet. 

He wept again as in those days of loneliness and 
sorrow. Again he saw himself caring for the 
tiny, motherless babe, until he could no longer 
do so, and at the same time furnish her and him- 
self with the necessities of life. And then, .... 


THE ONE MAN 


43 


there was the living over again of a day when 
he brought another woman, — the present Mary, 
— to . . take . . the . . place . . of her who 
died! 

The boat shook violently. Its tremor aroused 
him from his reverie. He gave her a quick turn 
with the oar. She started swiftly upon the home- 
ward trip. 

The evening was rapidly approaching. Al- 
ready the sun had set behind the mountains in 
the west and a chilling breeze was sweeping 
heavily in from the sea. The boat which had 
drifted so leisurely down the stream was moving 
as rapidly as in her working days. The holiday 
was over. Within an hour the old fisherman had 
reached the garden wall. 

The brown spaniel was still waiting for him. 
Apparently he had not moved from the spot 
where his master left him. 

Together the two old friends lingered on the 
river’s bank until the lights from the evening 
boats gleamed out in the darkness. 

Then the old fisherman laid his face against 
that of his faithful friend. He stroked the 
tangled faded ears and the dog knew there was a 
change. 

He appeared to be reconciled. 


CHAPTER V. 


A month passed since Fredrika had seen Mar- 
garet. Everyone in the valley now knew of 
her approaching marriage to Judson Patmore. 
Morning and evening one of the elegant equi- 
pages from the Patmore villa could be seen at the 
little gate leading to the Sullivan home. Daily 
the beautiful girl was driving, either alone with 
the coachman or accompanied by her aged 
fiance. Society was not in the least shocked. 
Men and women who did not know the young 
woman as Margaret, the fisherman’s daughter, 
turned in their carriages to give her admiration 
and homage as Margaret, the affianced bride of 
the old millionaire with his palatial homes in 
every land. 

No one failed to see the striking contrast be- 
tween the tall delicately formed young woman, 
with her golden hair, peach-like complexion, rosy 
cheeks and fascinating blue eyes, and the lank, 
stoop shouldered, wrinkled, sallow, thin, grey- 
haired, senile man beside her. Women said: 
‘‘How fortunate.” “How lovely to be an old 
man’s darling.” Middle aged men remarked 
what “a really good thing it was for the old man 
to have such a young, beautiful creature for his 
wife. It would keep him young.” “A veritable 
youth renewer,” said one. “Only see how 


THE ONE MAN 


45 


straight he already sits in his carriage/’ said an- 
other; while still others exclaimed as they looked 
upon his recently smooth-shaven face, ‘‘Why, he 
looks fully twenty years younger than he did last 
year. ’ ’ 

Not one said: “How unnatural this is. How 
damnable the sight. How shocking to witness 
the ‘grand finale’ of this old man, leading like a 
lamb to the slaughter, a beautiful girl of scarce 
twenty three summers, by way of a marriage 
which only satisfied a transitory, senile whim 
which society and the power of gold made possi- 
ble.” Few were they who pitied this unfortu- 
nate girl whom society had, also through its weak- 
ness, through its false social standards and lax 
marriage laws, forced into a condition which 
could only prove for her a veritable hell. 

The days went by; and then for weeks Mar- 
garet rode alone. Mr. Patmore had been called to 
the Northwest. On his return the marriage 
would take place. 

Fredrika learned of this, and resolved to go and 
see Margaret. She would say nothing against 
her marriage. She would persuade her to again 
visit her home. Their friendship should not be 
broken even though she be forced to apologize. 
Margaret should be the same to her as in the 
old days. 

The next morning she ordered Clio and Vir- 
ginia saddled, and accompanied by Samuel, who 
rode Virginia, — Margaret’s favorite, — she rode to 
the Sullivan cottage. At the little gate she dis- 
mounted and giving Samuel her bridle rein, she 


46 


THE ONE MAN 


ran up to the door and rapped. Margaret opened 
it herself and for a moment blushed in her sur- 
prise. 

''Don't be frightened Margaret," said Fred- 
rika sweetly. "I could wait to see you no longer. 
Come, go with me on a morning ride." She 
touched her cheek with a salutation kiss and 
whispered "Forgive me, Margaret." 

It was now all right between them; just as it 
generally is and as it always should be between 
old friends who have misunderstandings. Just a 
bending of false pride. Just a loving word of 
regret or one of apology. It costs so little and 
it means so much sometimes. 

For a moment Margaret hesitated. She won- 
dered if it would be right for her to go. In- 
stantly she recalled all that Fredrika had been 
to her; her benefactress, her friend in the old 
days. And what did it matter now if it had 
been best to leave her where she was ? No ! she 
would not think of that. She would not cause 
her pain. 

"Yes, I will go Fredrika," she replied. "And 
I'll be ready in a moment." 

She donned a simple riding habit and told her 
mother that she would return soon. 

"0, Margaret, do not say that," said Fredrika. 
"you must remain over night with me, at least. 
Samuel will carry a house dress for you. I want 
a long visit with you. You must stay with me 
until tomorrow." 

Margaret rather reluctantly consented to re- 
main over the night. Not that she did not want 


THE ONE MAN 


47 


to visit Fredrika, but she felt that she could not 
see Herbert again. 

Within a few moments they were galloping 
away, chatting and laughing as if nothing had 
ever come between them. If Margaret was not 
happy, Fredrika failed to observe it. 

The day was delightful and they rode up the 
valley for miles; so far in fact that they stopped 
at a little inn for luncheon. 

‘Ht is like old times, isnT it Fredrika?’^ said 
Margaret as they were nearing home on the re- 
turn trip. ''How happy I am that you came for 
me. We will always ride together when I am 
here, wonT we Fr^derika? Of course, you know 
— but we’ll not talk of that, Fredrika . . for it 
is all right now . . .” 

They were nearing home and as they rode 
through the massive gates there were declarations 
that nothing should ever come between their love 
again. 

Margaret felt an unusual kindliness in Fred- 
rika ’s voice, but she would never know how much 
she loved her, — ^how much she had suffered for 
her. 

They reached the house and dismounted. Sam- 
uel took their horses, and as the young women 
turned away, he east a sly glance at the beautiful 
girl who addressed him in her old time manner. 
Like other servants at the Hall, he had always 
hoped to see her mistress there. 

As he led the horses to their stable he muttered 
to himself: "Bar’s no use talkin’, dat sweet 
young thing nebber should be ’loud to marry ole 


48 


THE ONE MAN 


man Patmoh.. D6 law ob d© lan^ should say, 
when dese old men come lookin’ fo’ young wives: 
‘No, sah ee!’ Marse Herbert is her natur’l lober 
an’ she is his, an’ what’s de reason he’s gone an’ 
let dat ole man take her off fo’, dis ole niggah 
can’t make out. I don’ know s’much as de 
white folks ’round New York, but one thing dis 
darkey do know, an’ dat is: dat beau’ful young 
wimmen like Miss Mar ’get, nebber did, nebber 
could, an’ nebber will lob ole men like Marse Pat- 
moh, ’nless dey’s blood ’lation. No sah ee, it 
ain’t right. Jinny!” and he gave the mare such 
a slap as to start her on a keen gallop to her 
stable quarters. 

He went on talking to himself. 

“Now, I jes’ jedge odder folks by my own self. 
Mebbe I cud fall in lob wid dat pickaninny, 
Susie Ed’ards, but it don’ take a niggah any 
wiser ’n I to see jes how dat thing would turn out. 
Fust thing I know’d she’d hab a young lober, an’ 
den she’d git dissas’fied and lonesome like, an’ 
mis’ble, an’ den no moh comfut fo’ dis ole man. 
Yas sah ee, de gov-ment ob dese United States 
should fo’bid dis kind of mat’mony. An’ so much 
vo’ce tool Not any sense ’fall to de lob bizness 
anyhow. Jes see how ’tis any way. Ef a man, 
er a woman bu’n up de house, er imbizzle de 
bank, er ’stroy railroad goods, er steal, er fo’ge 
notes, er slandah one another, dey is sho’ pun- 
ished by de law. But if de man ob de house 
sees ’nuther woman what’s moh beau’ful, er 
what suits him better ’n de ole wife, he jes up an’ 
say to his ole woman : ‘I lob yo’ no moh. I lib wid 


I 


THE ONE MAN 


49 


jo’ no moh. Yo’ tak de kids an’ go fin’ good 
home somewhere. Yo’ git from me few dollahs 
ebery month when I have some.’ Sometimes he 
don’ say so much as dis. He jes hand her out 
few dollahs an say: ‘Yo’ tak dis ’mount an’ go 
right ’long dis minit.’ Den he bid dis ole wife 
goodby sometimes, sometimes he say not one 
wo’d, but jes start right off to Souf Kota, er 
some odder weak point in de United States, an’ 
when he ’rives, he go see some lawyer, — when dey 
don’ cotch him at de train, — an’ say: ‘He ’ah Mr. 
Lawyer, I come fo’ ’vorce, for sep ’ration from 
my ole woman!’ An’ he lays down some money. 
— ten — mebbe hun’red — mebbe thousand — ^mebbe 
mo’n dat, anyhow, nuff to git him freedom from 
de missus. Den he say to dat lawyer when de 
price is settled ’pon shu’ :‘Now you jes hurry up so 
fas’ as de Lo’d let you sah.’ An’ de ’grace of de 
whole thing is dat de woman what’s after him go 
back to dis jedge er lawyer man an’ say to him: 
‘Now do please hurry sah;’ an’ den he say: ‘Cost 
money.’ Den dey gib dat man mo’ money, an’ 
after dat de lawyer jedge, he smile an’ say: ‘Walk 
right up sah, right dis way please, an’ I make 
new contract fo’ de same price sah.’ An’ dey all 
say dat de new women is so anxious to git dese 
’vorced men dat dey walk so fas’ dat dey git to 
de bars fust.” 

He coughed slightly and then in a somewhat 
lower tone of voice continued his soliloquy. 

“An it’s de same thing wid wimmen what 
wants ’vorce. Sometimes moh disgraceful. She 
marry one man. She lib wid him few months, — 


50 


THE ONE MAN 


few yeahs p’haps — den, mebbe she hab hard time 
to git ’nuf money an^ she can^t stan^ dat. She sho’ 
git tired ob dat, sho^ as dis wold dat woman do. 
Canl hab new hat, cant hab ’nufE servants canl 
hab party all time, canl get new close fas^ ’nuff ; 
jus hab to stay home all de time, an’ wo’k mebbe, 
jes lik’ de ole man. Her head den gits full ob 
fool notions, — all kinds. Her lady fren’s,. dey 
say: ‘I’dnotstan’ fo’ dat.’ An’ den dis fool wo- 
man she make big fuss; mebbe she fight some; 
mebbe she tell a lie er two ’bout dat man; and 
den runs right off; an’ dat good home has all 
gone to de dogs. Mebbe she take little baby 
’long wid her, mebbe not. Mebbe she leave five, 
six, seven, eight little pickaninies wid de old man. 
An’ den dis woman she go off to ’vorce lan’l 
Dey tell dis niggah dat wimmin mo’n men take 
’nuther man right ’long. Sometime he goes right 
’head an’ makes ’rangements. ” 

He gave Virginia’s bridle an extra vigorous 
rubbing and scanning it a moment tossed it upon 
its hook. 

‘‘Oh, deah me!” he sighed, “how many happy 
homes is toah all to pieces dese days. It does 
seem dat de ledg’lators ort to ’ply a little law to 
dis disbandin’ bizness, and spechully to de one 
what’s busted up de place. Instid ob sayin’; 
‘All right sah’; er ‘All right, missus, yo’ go 
git good ’vorce,’ dis darkey ’d say: ‘Heah, yo’ 
done broke up dis home; yo’ hab disgraced de 
honor ob yo’ little ones, what’s yo’s ’sponsible 
fo’ fetchin’ in dis home; yo’ has ’stroyed de hap- 
piness ob dese chillun; an’ I say you is jes as 


THE ONE MAN 


51 


bad as de man what’s busted up de bank, er 
stole de goose. Now sah,’ I’d say, 'yo’ jes go 
way and suffer little bit fo’ makin’ all dis mis’ry, 
yo’ take little time fo’ to see jes what yo’ has 
been up to.’ I don’ say to dese folks: ‘Yo’ go 
to jail,’ er ‘Yo’ go git ’lectrecuted ; ’ but I jes 
say, ‘Yo’ wait fo’ a few yeahs fore ye hab nuther 
chance to ’turb good home.” 

Again he sighed. “Oh — deah me suz!” He 
was speaking in a voice full of heartfelt emotion. 
“How dis ole chile’s heart do go out to de little 
chilluns what’s left from dis ’vorce ’cedin’s.” 

He drew forth an old bandana from his pocket. 
He wiped away the tears which were trickling 
down his honest face. “Po’ li’l things!” he said, 
and then bent his wooly, grizzled head upon his 
hands. 

He sat in this position for some time; then as 
if startled by an impulsive thought he looked 
up and said: 

“I jes wonder what Miss ’Eika would say if 
she know’d ole man Patmoh got mo ’an one wife 
out in de West. He thinks he’s foolin’ white 
folks in dese parts wid jes one ’vorce. I jes won- 
dah what she’d think if I told her what my boy, 
George, heard out dere. He know’d a whole heap 
’bout dat ole scamp; but I guess I will keep my 
mouf shut dis time. Trouble ’nuff for dat po’ 
chile Mar ’get sho’. I done see what fo’ she 
marry him anyhow, eben wid all dat money what 
he’s got. Sho’ dat girl can’t see good; she need 
glasses, she do; fo’ ebery time I look at him, 
I can’t see nuffin’ but dat picture in Miss 


52 


THE ONE MAN 


’Kika’s book what she lef on de lawn one night; 
dat picture what says: ^sans eyes, sans teeth, sans 
eb’ry thing.' Sho' it was a 'plete 'sogomy ob 
dat ole man. Not much lef; jes ready to blow 
’way. ’ ’ 

^‘Oh, deah me, what a wo ’Id dis is anyway,” he 
said as he sat down in an old chair and lapsed 
into a few minutes thought. 

When he looked up again his face wore a 
brighter expression. '‘Jes bad fifty years ago, 
I guess, only not so much ’vorce. ” 

He had been working as he talked, and evi- 
dently had been so absorbed in his own words, 
that he had not noticed the fiight of time, nor 
the amount of work he had accomplished. At last 
he was aroused from his thoughts. He looked 
around and saw that his chores were all done. 

"Mighty ’sorb’d I was sho’ nuff. Pity mo’ 
folk wouldn’t git ’sorbed in dis ’vorce and lob 
bizness, and spechully fo’bid girls from marry- 
in’ ole men. Tain’t natural; tain’t decent; tain’t 
anything what de Lo’d abofe us ’ntended. An’ 
dat’s jes sho’s yo’ live.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

A half hour later after the dinner toilets were 
made, Fredrika received a message from one of 
the tenants that the mother was dying. Hasten- 
ing away, Margaret accompanied her to the door, 
and watched Fredrika and the little boy who had 
come for her until they were out of sight when 


THE ONE MAN 


53 


she returned to the library and took up a book 
which lay upon the table. 

She wore a pale blue dinner dress of soft cash- 
mere like material, which was relieved at the low 
cut neck with a large bow of black velvet; a 
black velvet choux was also fastened in her hair 
making a beautiful and striking contrast to its 
exquisite golden tint. The long ride had given 
her cheeks a becoming flush, and she had never 
looked more radiantly beautiful. 

Dinner was served, and she partook of it alone ; 
afterwards returning to the same window over- 
looking the river. She was lonely and again took 
up the book she had been reading; daylight was 
rapidly fading and she could not see the words. 
The breeze came in at the window and cooled 
the rosy hue upon her cheeks into a paleness 
which still more enhanced her beauty. The book 
lay unclosed upon her lap; she did not even 
know its title; she had only scanned its pages 
here and there. 

It was almost nightfall, yet in the warm au- 
tumn haze she could see across the river and 
well out upon the landscape which spread for 
miles beyond. Near where she sat was a statue 
of the Virgin; it had belonged to Fredrika’s 
mother and had been left in its old place in this 
room, which to her had been both library and 
chapel combined. 

She was alone but she was not dreaming of the 
future, this fair prospective bride. She was think- 
ing of the past ; of the happy days she had known 
in this home, yes, in this very room. 


54 


THE ONE MAN 


She pressed one hand against her cheek; with 
the other she clinched the arm of the divan upon 
which she sat, and in a whispered voice she said : 

''Ah, what a fate! What misery to never know 
the joys of love! The joy of loving him!’’ 

She rose and looked around the room. She 
went to another window and peered out into the 
dimly fading day. She sighed and cried aloud: 

' ' Oh how happy I might have been ! . . . But 
now . . . Ah, now I have no right to dream of 
love! ...” 

She sat down again upon the divan. She looked 
at the magnificent solitaire which shone from the 
slender band encircling her finger. She recalled 
a recent promise. Its luster dimmed under her 
falling tears. 

Suddenly she felt a hand upon her shoulder; 
and then she heard a voice repeating her recently 
uttered words : 

"No right . . . even . . , to . . . dream 
. . . of . . . love ...” 

She was transfixed with fright. She turned as 
if expecting to be killed. Instead she was look- 
ing into the dark eyes of Herbert Von Hoffman. 

"Margaret,” he was saying in gentle tones, 
"Margaret, do not be frightened! It is only I. 
. . . The one whose weakness has brought you 
to the misery of this hour.” 

He was now standing before her. Through the 
dim twilight she was looking well into his face. 

"Yes, Margaret, I have been a coward; a weak- 
ling among men. The victim of a pride which 
has ruined both our lives.” 


THE ONE MAN 


55 


She put out her hand as if to silence him. 

‘'Do not send me away, Margaret, I am here 
through a mere incident ; I was not expected home 
tonight and I knew not of your presence in this 
room until I heard your voice. But I am here, 
Margaret, and I understand all. I know that you 
are not happy. And I; . . . Oh, Margaret, 
there is nothing for me ! ’ ’ 

She started as if to rise from her seat. He put 
his hand out to stay her. 

“No, do not go, Margaret; it is a sacred place, 
and I am not here to ask you to break a promise 
’given another. ’ ’ 

She felt the tremor in his voice. She leaned 
hack against the divan and listened to what he 
would say. 

“It is, however, my desire, my right I believe, 
to tell you that for years you have been my ideal. 
To tell you, Margaret, that I have always loved 
you. — This is my confession — and the penance 
— ^is death; — death to my better nature and my 
heart. And there is no absolution, Margaret, — 
men and women must suffer themselves for the 
sin of trifling with the laws of love; — bitterly 
suffer, when they place social decrees above the 
sacred emotions of life.’’ 

She looked at him as he spoke, but said no 
word. The red moon coming out of the Eastern 
sky was keeping off the night. The room was 
fllled with the glory of a strangely closing day. 

He further spoke: 

Margaret, I know it would have been better 
for you had I not come here to-night. Better 


56 


THE ONE MAN 


had I not heard you speak. Better had you not 
uttered your thoughts aloud. But you have 
spoken, and I am here; — ^through what myster- 
ious power, I know not. — ^And I have told you of 
my love. It will alleviate my memory of the 
past; it will modify the keen remorse which fills 
my soul; it will help me to live and bear my fu- 
ture; my future with all its sacrifices and lonely 
days ; it will give me faith, and hope, and peace. 
— And Margaret, for all this, have mercy. Have 
mercy and forgiveness.^’ 

His face was white, and underneath the re- 
fiection of the now brightening moon it had a 
look of indescribable ghastliness. But it was also 
calm and sincere, with the suppressed emotions 
of a yet unexpressed suffering. 

He looked at her a moment and then he spoke 
again: ‘'You are going away, Margaret; going 
into the life and gaity of a world I much desire 
to leave. And Margaret, after you have forgiven 
it will be best that you forget me — ^forget that 
you ever knew Herbert Von Hoffman.” 

Margaret had risen from her seat. She had 
not yet spoken. 

Was she angry? He hardly knew. Had he 
ventured too far? Was he a fool as well as a 
coward ? 

She turned her face away from him, and 
pressed her hand against her heart. Ah, how it 
was paining her. She walked towards the door. 
She would go out from his presence. She would 
leave this house forever. 

Her hand was on the door. She tried to open 


THE ONE MAN 


57 


it, but she had no strength to do so. In another 
instant she had turned back. She walked swiftly 
across the room and throwing herself at his feet, 
she cried: ‘^Herbert, I forgive — but, oh, do not 
ask me to forget you. It is all right ; I know the 
world ; I understand. It is you who knows not a 
woman’s heart. If you did you would not ask 
me to forget. — ” 

He knelt beside her, and like a brother, he 
placed his hand upon her head. He said no word. 
He only raised her to her feet and looked into 
her face. It was marble-like in its pallor. Then 
he led her to the divan where he found her, and 
said he would go away. 

She looked into his eyes a moment and then in 
tones of regret she cried: ‘‘Oh, how I have 
sinned! I, the promised bride of another!” And 
then in the agony of her sorrow she cried to God 
for mercy and wept out the bitterness of her un- 
controlable anguish. 

He sat down beside her and drew her head 
over against his heart: “Margaret, there is no sin 
in loving. God and not the world understands 
our hearts. He will pardon you. He will par- 
don even me.” He laid her head upon the divan 
pillow and took her hands from her beautiful, 
tear-stained face. 

“Margaret, do not hide your face from me. 
Look at me, — ^just once, for it is my last hour of 
happiness. For one brief moment let me see the 
love which is to go out of my life forever. . . ” 

Bewildered and stunned as if by a shock, she 
opened her eyes and looked into thsoe of the man 


58 


THE ONE MAN 


she loved. He looked at her and then into the 
depths of blue which reflected all he had asked. 
He spoke not; he only pressed one kiss upon her 
brow. 

The next instant Margaret looked up. She 
saw the statue of the Virgin. It seemed to bend 
over her. She screamed and leaving his side, fell 
at its feet. 

^‘Oh, Holy Mother,’’ she cried. ‘'My heart, — 
it is safe, — safe with Thee. . . . ” 

He left the room. He knew it was best. It 
was their first temptation. 


CHAPTER VII. 

It was nearly midnight when Fredrika re- 
turned from the Ferrian home. For some mo- 
ments she sat down on the veranda as she had 
promised, until the little lad, who had accompan- 
ied her, had again reached the desolate cottage. 
She knew he was filled with the superstitions and 
fear which children always feel when in the dark ; 
and for this she had assured him that she would 
remain where she could see him until he was safe 
at home. 

As she watched, she would occasionally see him 
turn and look back; and then having assured 
himself that she was still there, he took courage 
again and started on a brisker run. Finally he 
reached the little gate, and only when he disap- 
peared behind the lilac clumps did she once look 
away. She had, herself, felt the superstitions of 


THE ONE MAN 


59 


the locality; the fear of death and of night in 
her own childhood, and she did not fail in her 
promise to this child. 

‘‘Poor little one!’’ she said aloud when she 
saw him no more. And then for the first time 
she thought of Margaret. 

It was past midnight and so quiet that she 
thought every one must have retired. She 
walked around to the front door, opened it and 
walked along until she reached the library. She 
thought it strange that no light was left for her 
and she wondered if she could reach her chamber 
without one. 

She paused and looked into the room. She 
was impelled to enter; and yet it was so dark 
that she could not see the casing around the door. 
She walked on apparently without her own voli- 
tion, until she had crossed the room and had come 
close to one of the front windows. In the dark- 
ness she perceived the marble figure. A light 
from a passing steamer suddenly fiooded the 
room, and upon the floor she saw a prostrate form. 
She stepped nearer. Yes, it was Margaret. She 
had been at her prayers, no doubt, and weary 
with the long waiting had fallen asleep. 

“How sweet of her to wait for me,” she 
thought, and fearing lest she might frighten her, 
should she awaken and find her standing so near, 
she walked back to the door and softly called: 

‘ ‘ Margaret 1 Margaret 1 ’ ’ 

Again she spoke, but there was no answer. 
Again, and this time louder: 

“Margaret!” 


60 


THE ONE MAN 


She could not understand why she should be 
sleeping so soundly, and she hastened across the 
room to light the lamp upon the library table. 

''Did I really see herT’ she thought as she was 
groping in the dark for the matches. Her heart 
was beating fast. 

But when the light flashed from the lamp 
through the room, it’s brilliancy awakened the 
sleeping girl. 

"How kind of you to wait for me, dear,” Fred- 
rika was saying, as she went towards her. 

Margaret did not answer. She seemed not to 
realize where she was. She looked at Fredrika, 
and then around the room as if in fear. She 
tried to get up on her feet, but a moment later 
she had clasped her white hands together and 
falling back unconsciously to the floor, she mur- 
mured: "My dream! . . . Oh, Fredrika, was it 
true?” 

Kneeling over her, Fredrika was stroking her 
hands and face. How cold they were. 

"Margaret! Oh! Margaret, why do you not 
speak? You are ill. You have remained too long 
near this open window. The breeze is heavy; it 
has chilled you.” 

She reached for a pillow from the divan and 
gently placed it under her head. She listened to 
know if she were breathing, but she could not 
tell. And rushing to a bell, she rang for Mary. 

The old servant was awake. Somehow she had 
been unable to sleep that night. In a moment she 
was hurrying to the call. 

"An’ what in th’ worruld is th’ mather?” she 


THE ONE MAN 


61 


cried as she rapidly came down the hall. She 
saw the light in the library and was met at the 
door by Fredrika who was now in a very ex- 
cited state. 

‘‘Oh, Mary! Margaret is ill. Perhaps she is 
dead. I do not know. Come! I found her here 
when I came from the Perrians. She was sleep- 
ing by the open window. She awakened a mo- 
ment and then seemed confused and fell back 
upon the floor. She is cold. See. Oh, Mary, 
she is dead!’^ 

Mary was down upon her knees stroking her 
hands and head and at the same time trying to 
calm Fredrika. 

“Indade, she is not dead at all yit,’’ she was 
saying a moment later. “ICs sure a warm 
breath that Oi fale on me face at this very minit. 
She’s bin frightened, she ’as, and shure it is that 
me auld ears did ’ear a person come an’ go. 
Oi’ve not bin shlapin’ wan wink at all this blissid 
night. It’s a sthrange inflooance what’s over 
this house these days. Oi think child ye’d better 
sind fur th’ doctor. Oi’ll kape th’ sweet cray- 
thure aloive ’til ’e coomes.” 

“Did Herbert come home last night, Mary?” 
inquired Fredrika. 

“ ’E did not. ’E’d important business in town. 
Go yersilf an’ sthart Samuel fur th’ doctor. An’ 
bid ’im hurry a bit er ye’ll niver ’ave ’elp soon 
enough.” 

In the meantime Mary had placed warm bottles 
to Margaret’s feet and had her almost smothered 
in rugs and coverlets. 


62 


THE ONE MAN 


Fredrika first rang SamueFs bell and then has- 
tened to the stable. She rapped loudly on the 
window. He had heard the bell and would be 
ready in a moment. 

‘‘Oh, Samuel!’’ cried the excited young wo- 
man: “Do hurry, for I am afraid Margaret may 
die. Take Clio — she is swift — and go with the 
greatest possible speed. Do, please, Samuel, hur- 
ry just this once. ’ ’ 

While he was getting ready, she kept on talk- 
ing. She wondered why they should be alone 
when Margaret was so ill. She wondered why 
Herbert had not returned. She regretted her 
own absence from the house that night. And 
then she again reminded the old darkey of his 
delay. 

Samuel, however, did not talk. Fredrika 
thought he was unusually quiet, and also that he 
did not make the necessary haste in getting away. 
He deserved reprimanding. 

“Samuel,” she said. “Why do you not obey? 
Why are you so indifferent at such a time as 
this?” 

“I’se hurryin’ now. I’m goin’ jes ’s fas’ ’s I 
kin. I’se bin thinkin’. Missus.” 

“Never mind; never mind about thinking, 
now,” said Fredrika. “Just think how bad we 
would all feel if the doctor came too late.” 

“Might be a blessed good thing fur dat sweet 
chile tho’, I reckon.” 

And without waiting for the reprimand which 
he knew he would receive for such a remark, he 
jumped on the mare and giving her a slap with 


THE ONE MAN 


63 


the bridle, was half way down to the gates before 
Fredrika could have time to sp.eak. 

She hurried back to the house. Her anxiety 
was not lessened over Margaret’s condition, but 
she was puzzled over what Samuel had said. He 
knew no doubt of her approaching marriage. 
What did those colored people not know? Their 
sympathy, their inquisitiveness, their ability to 
fathom family and neighborhood secrets; it was 
surely marvelous. 

The doctor came. It was not Dr. Drake, their 
old family physician; but a stranger, whom they 
had never seen before. But he was a doctor and 
at this time they did not question who he was 
or from whence he came. Dr. Drake had sent 
him and that was enough. 

He took a seat upon the low ottoman which 
Mary had placed for him, for Margaret was still 
lying on the floor in front of the statue where 
she had fallen. 

He took her hand and felt at the wrist for her 
pulse. He knelt upon the floor and listened over 
her heart. He placed his hand upon her head. 
He asked no questions for both Mary and Fred- 
rika had told him all they knew about the case. 

Suddenly Fredrika exclaimed: ‘'She is dead. 
Doctor!” 

He made no reply. He said: “Bring me hot 
water and a teaspoon.” 

Fredrika hastened away for them and Mary 
readjusted the hot bottles and the pillows. 

While he was waiting for the articles sent for, 
he placed a thermometer in her mouth, left it 


64 


THE ONE MAN 


there a few moments, then walked over to the 
lamp and read the indication: ‘‘Subnormal. 96/’ 
he said aloud. 

Fredrika had placed the water on the table and 
was again kneeling near Margaret. 

The doctor then took a little case from his 
pocket, dissolved a tiny tablet which he took there- 
from in a little of the hot water, dipped the tip 
of the needle in that remaining in the glass, then 
drew into the delicate instrument the prepared 
solution and slowly injected it into Margaret’s 
arm. 

He had not yet answered Fredrika ; and as she 
watched his slow and exasperatingly deliberate 
methods, she thought that at least an hour had 
passed since he entered the room. 

She glanced up at the hall clock which stood 
opposite the library door. It was only two hours 
since she left the Ferrian home. 

There are times in one’s life when actual time 
has no accounting. Anxiety carries our thoughts 
on wings of lightning. Physicians only in these 
moments appear to realize that a minute is sixty 
seconds long. 

He said nothing. He kept his finger on her 
pulse and occasionally placed his ear over her 
heart. At times his eyes wandered from the pa- 
tient’s face and appeared to be fixed upon some 
object in the room ; but at no time had he removed 
his fingers from her wrist. 

At last he turned his head as if listening. He 
took his hand from her pulse and opened her 
eyelids. An expression hitherto unobserved came 


THE ONE MAN 


65 


over his face. He looked up at Fredrika and 
said: ‘'She will live. A favorable reaction is 
taking place.’’ 

He then arose from the uncomfortable position 
on the floor, and again addressed her in a slow, 
well modulated voice: “She has been suffering 
from shock, such as comes from fright, grief or 
prolonged anxiety. 

He remained by her side for three hours and 
then repeated the hypodermic medication. He as- 
sisted them in placing her upon a couch in Fred- 
rika ’s room, and after giving them full and de- 
tailed directions for her care, he took up his 
case and hat to go. 

“Wait a moment,” said Fredrika. “Mary will 
prepare you a cup of coffee, while Samuel is get- 
ting out a carriage to drive you home.” 

“Thank you,” he replied; “I will not refuse 
the coffee, — it is the drink of the gods; but pray 
do not call the coachman; I prefer to walk. This 
country is new to me. I am a guest of your fam- 
ily physician, coming in his place tonight on ac- 
count of an illness which came upon him quite 
suddenly. Dr. Drake is an old friend of my fam- 
ily.’^ 

After the coffee was served, he again went to 
Margaret’s bedside. There was steady improve- 
ment in her condition with no unfavorable symp- 
toms. 

As he was leaving the room, Fredrika ex- 
pressed her appreciation for his kindness in com- 
ing, and thanking him as well for a treat- 
ment so successfully administered, she ex- 


66 


THE ONE MAN 


tended her hand and bade him, ‘‘Good morning.’^ 

As he took her hand he looked for the first 
time into her dark eyes. He thought he had 
never seen a more beautiful woman. And so 
kind withal, so free from arrogance, from all, 
which according to his former ideas went to make 
up the eastern aristocrat. 

Eetiring from the elegant apartments and leav- 
ing the spacious upper hall with its exquisite 
silken tapestries, he descended the beautifully 
carved staircase upon which each step sank 
deeply in velvet pile, and passed out through the 
oaken doors, under the massive pillared veranda, 
down through the formal garden, and on into 
the well kept park through which gates he came 
upon the public highway. 

How like a dream it seemed. He had read of 
such palatial splendour; but it was his first 
glimpse of a New York country mansion. 

He crossed the road in front of the entrance 
gates; and then for a moment he turned back to 
look at the magnificent place. 

“What happiness,’’ he said, “to be the owner 
of an estate like this. No worry; no anxiety; no 
struggle to reach one’s ideals.” 

He had not yet learned that not only is that 
man rich who “simply owns a day,” but that 
he only is rich and happy who is not mortgaged 
body and soul to public opinion; whose natural 
life impulses are unshackled by the slavery of a 
false social system. 

He walked on down the bridle path which kept 
him near the road until he reached the brink 


THE ONE MAN 


67 


of the hill. There he turned aside and sat down 
upon a rustic seat, which had been so placed that 
the pedestrian passer-by could, while resting, get 
a glimpse of the beautiful river and the far away 
landscape beyond. 

He was tired. He remembered at this moment 
that he had not slept that night. He took off his 
hat and looked up the distant valley. A moment 
later he was thinking of another scene; a distant 
place, another valley in which there was also a 
river. A valley without the mountains for a 
background; a valley bereft of rocks and hills. 
Another landscape which horizon was but the 
flattened surface of land extending far, far away. 

He was again visiting his patients on the broad, 
beautiful prairies. He was dreaming of the 
friends to whom he had become as a brother; 
with whom he had worked and suffered; and to 
whom he had extended not only professional care 
but such consolation and advice as had enabled 
them to rise from the pessimism of their discour- 
agements and the misery of their despair; such 
service as the true physician ever finds an oppor- 
tunity for. 

He half awakened to the scene before him, but 
again lapsed into another train of thought. He 
found himself comparing the simple cottages of 
the average Northwest settler with the palatial 
homes which dotted the mountain side as far as 
he could see. But in that moment these envir- 
onments counted for naught. He could only 
think of the kindly hearts he had left behind ; of 
the sacrifices they had made in trying to pay their 


68 


THE ONE MAN 


small accounts so that he might be able to fur- 
ther perfect himself in his professional studies. 

He saw them one by one coming to his office, 
and even to the station to bid him ‘‘Good-bye.’’ 
Ah, what precious friends! These were the ones 
who loved him for what he was. Yes, he would 
sacrifice his ambition for them. He would re- 
turn again to these dear people. 

Then his mind reverted to his own home; to 
the place where he was born. How like a desert 
seemed the lawn and the eighty acres of sandy 
soil stretching out beyond, when compared with 
the formal garden and the well kept acres of 
the private park through which he had just come. 

How precious seemed all nature here. With 
what patience and love had these people striven 
to transform the very landscape into pictured art. 

His home. Ah, how poorly it also compared 
with the one which he had just left. A five room 
dwelling his father’s house; and one which only 
through the greatest economy had supplanted the 
hut of logs to which his mother had been taken 
a bride. They too had done their best. There 
was a half dozen box-alders here and there; a 
half dead poplar windbreak on the north; a 
scragly crab-apple orchard in the rear; and the 
lonely swamp spruce just outside the door. 

In the Northwest nature is also precious; but 
there life must be sustained; and its people are 
still obliged to transform the landscape into ele- 
ments of nourishment instead of art. 

He stood again within his mother’s dining 
room. It was a simple place, with it’s linoleum- 


THE ONE MAN 


69 


covered floor ; its modest extension table ; and 
the necessary chairs. No pictures on its walls; 
nothing there except the old sewing machine 
which he had helped her purchase when a boy. 
And his own room, so sparsely furnished. His li- 
brary which at the most contained only a hun- 
dred volumes, every one of which had been pur- 
chased at the sacrifice of some personal comfort. 

He bent his head into his hands as he recalled 
the memory of his father. How bent with toil 
he seemed for years before his death. And his 
precious mother! Even now he saw her hands 
all stained and grimmed with work, — with honest 
labor, — to help give her boy an education. He 
remembered the pain it always gave him to take 
their hard earned gold. His only consolation was 
the look of pride which he remembered as shining 
across their faces when he had finished all they 
had planned for him. 

A half hour before, he had for the first time in 
his life felt the longing for wealth, but with the 
ending of his reverie it was dispersed. He was 
reconciled. 

He looked at his watch. It was 6:30. He 
would not hurry lest he arrive too early and 
awaken the old physician. 

He was now fully aroused. He stood and 
looked over the stony precipice far out across the 
river. 

A steamer glided rapidly along, and under the 
overhanging banks an express train heavily 
loaded with passengers rolled onward towards 
the great metropolis. 


70 


THE ONE MAN 


The inhabitants of the valley began making 
their appearance here and there. The laborer 
and the farmer were going forth to their work, 
and gentlemen of leisure were viewing their es- 
tates or starting on their early morning rides. 

The maples were never more brilliant in their 
tints of red and gold. The apple orchards were 
bending with luscious fruitage. The sumach’s 
flame covered the mountain-side. 

‘‘Yes, it is beautiful!” he exclaimed. “But it 
is not for me. I am content.” 

He stood still. He was thinking of one*, whose 
words had comforted thousands. Whose humble 
home could not be so very far remote from where 
he was. 

“To do one’s duty without repining. To make 
the best of one’s environment.” Not his exact 
words, but still his thought. And it was the only 
way, for conditions were but illusions. They did 
not belong to the character of man. 

“Ah, what a philosophy it is,” he said, “This 
one of sweet content.” 

He went slowly down the mountain road; but 
he was not quite sure that such reasoning ac- 
corded with his own soul. 

No ; he would never more be content. He had 
looked too deeply that autumn morning into the 
dark eyes of Fredrika Von Hoffman. 

*John Burroughs. 


CHAPTEE VIII. 


It had been sixty hours since Margaret had 
spoken. But she breathed, her pulse beat, and 
there was hope. 

She still occupied Fredrika’s chamber, and 
Fredrika had herself become her nurse. In fact, 
she had scarcely left her bedside. It was her 
duty to remain, for who better than she under- 
stood the significance of shock from prolonged 
worry” in her case? 

At last she came to herself. Fredrika was 
bending over her. She did not speak but fell 
into an uncontrolable fit of weeping. 

Fredrika did not chide her; she let her weep 
on and soothed her as a mother would her child. 

After a while she turned her face towards Fred- 
rika. ‘‘Have I been ill?” she said inquiringly, 
“Am I ill now, or is this all a dream? If it be 
true, then I must die, Fredrika. But no, it was 
a dream. How strange that dream.” 

Fredrika thought from the rambling talk and 
from the unfinished sentence that she was not 
cognizant of what she was saying. She did not 
reply and in another instant she appeared to be 
sleeping quietly. 

Fredrika leaned back in the little chair. She 
knew that when Margaret awakened she would 
be better. 

Suddenly a voice called up the stairs. 


/ 


72 


THE ONE MAN 


‘‘Fredrika? Sister 

Her brother had returned. She hastily ^an to 
the top of the landing and placing her finger 
upon her lips as if to indicate silence she has- 
tened down to meet him. 

‘‘Margaret is here, Herbert,’’ she softly said; 
“She has been very ill, but the Doctor thinks now 
that she will live.” 

His face turned pale. He did not speak. He 
grasped a banister for support while his sister 
was explaining, and listened with breathless at- 
tention. 

“Our anxiety has been terrible,” she said fin- 
ally, “and now for the first time she is sleeping 
naturally. Oh, I have needed you so much, 
brother ; but now, all you can do is to keep very 
quiet. When she awakens this time she will be 
all right.” 

His sister pressed a kiss upon his brow and 
turned to go. An instant later she had again 
returned to his side and was whispering : 

“And you will go and see her when she is bet- 
ter, Herbert? You are a Von Holfman, and you 
can rise above your failures and your sorrows.” 

Before he had time to reply she was out of 
sight upstairs and rushing down the corridor to- 
ward Margaret’s apartments. 

She looked in. “Ah, yes, she still sleeps. I 
must not leave her again until she has awak- 
ened.” She spoke in a soft whisper and quietly 
sat down in the little chair by the bedside. 

After Fredrika left the room, Herbert threw 
himself into the first chair he could reach. 


THE ONE MAN 


73 


‘ ‘ Found ill ! By the window ! Ill almost unto 
death!'' Great beads of perspiration came out 
upon his forehead. He grew so weak that he 
could scarcely lift his hand. 

''Oh, God 1 What if she had died?" And again 
he lived over that hour* the outcome of which 
was falling so heavily upon him. 

"Oh, strange, inexplainable impulse which 
brought me home that night!" he said half aloud. 
"And to find her there, instead of my sister! To 
hear her exclamation of despair as I entered the 
room !" 

He thought of his impulsive confession. He re- 
membered her despair; her confession, wordless, 
though it may have been. 

"And for it all she may have died!" he said 
under his breath: "And I, . . . I . . . who 
love her, would have been her murderer!" 

He got up and walked the floor in his excite- 
ment. He came down the hall, went into the li- 
brary and walked straight to the divan standing 
near the window. Again he pictured the soft 
blue eyes looking up into his. Again he saw her 
upturned face. He recalled that sacred look of 
love. He felt again the thrill of passion as at 
the moment when he pressed that kiss upon her 
brow. 

He could think of it no more. He turned to- 
wards the window and saw himself running down 
the broad avenue to catch a midnight train to 
the city. A culprit fleeing from his own house. 
A sneak, leaving — perhaps to die — one who was 
dearer to him than all the world beside. 


74 


THE ONE MAN 


‘‘Oh, what a failure my life has been,'’ he said 
aloud. “And that night! How like a dream it 
seems to me I And still, from its realities she lies 
at this moment, ill almost unto death, in this 
home which should have welcomed her as a 
bride.” 

He pressed his hand against his brow. “Oh, 
that I could have been detained that night. Then 
there would have been no pain ... no regret 
... no future struggles for either of us.” 

He sat down and thought a moment. 

“No,” he was saying a moment later, “I will 
not see her. I am a Von Hoffman, but I will not 
again lead her into temptation.” 

At that moment the old knocker on the front 
door resounded through the house. Mary stood 
in the hall while the butler opened the door. The 
messenger laid a yellow covered envelope on the 
tray. The old servant knew it was a telegram. 
They always frightened Mary; with her, they 
meant illness, accidents or death. And so anxious 
was she to know its contents that she stood still 
and listened. 

She heard Herbert say: “Europe! Well; but 
rather short notice. On Saturday next. Oh, 
God, what a merciful incident!” 

When she found out that no one was dead and 
that nothing more than a trip to Europe was 
mentioned she took up her duties again. 

A moment later she was loitering over a piece 
of furniture she had been dusting. No, it was 
not an uncommon occurrence, for either Herbert 
or Fredrika to go to Europe ; hut there was surely 


THE ONE MAN 


75 


something of mystery in the words: ‘^What a 
merciful incident ! ” » 

^‘Mary/’ said the young man, who at this 
moment came out into the hall. ‘^Will you call 
my sister? Ah, but here is Lucille, her maid,’’ 
and he sent the young French woman with the 
message: ^‘Tell her to come at once; that I 
await her in the parlor.” 

He walked up and down the hall for a few 
moments and then went into the parlor where 
he impatiently awaited her coming. 

After a few moments she came in. ‘‘You sent 
Lucille for me. What is it Herbert?” 

He handed her the piece of yellow paper. 

“Bead it,” he said. “It is from my old class- 
mate, Kichard McKeon — ^now Doctor McKeon of 

, up the state. A vacation trip, and wants 

me for a travelling companion.” 

She read the message herself, and then looked 
up at him. 

“What do you say at my going, sister? How is 
Margaret ? ’ ’ 

He asked both of these questions in the same 
breath. 

“She is better, Herbert. She was just asking 
me to take her home. Her illness seems very 
strange to me. I think she must have overdone 
in preparing for her marriage. And sometimes 
I think, Herbert, that she will be happy with 
him ; that is, happy in a way. When she was sleep- 
ing today, she smiled so sweetly and there came 
such a look of happiness upon her face.” 

Fredrika did not observe that when she was 


76 


THE ONE MAN 


talking his heart was thumping violently against 
his breast, or that his voice had an unnatural 
huskiness when he said: 

‘‘Well, sister, you have not told me what you 
think about my going abroad with Doctor 
McKeon.’’ 

She thought a moment and then went up to 
him and laid her hand gently upon his arm: 

“Herbert,’’ she softly said: “don’t you think it 
is best?” 

For some moments neither spoke. He could 
not; and she was thinking how near the time ap- 
proached when Margaret’s marriage would take 
place, and what it would mean to him. 

Again she spoke. “Yes, Herbert, it is best for 
you to go.” 

He understood what she meant. 

“But,” and this time she looked at him plead- 
ingly, “you must say ‘Good-bye’ to her. For my 
sake, Herbert, you must do this. 

He looked down into her face. She noticed 
that his face grew strangely pale. “Sister, please 
do not ask that of me. I can leave a note — a 
card.” 

Fredrika shook her head. 

An instant later he was saying: “Fredrika, the 
boy is awaiting my answer. We must not delay 
him. And taking from her hand the telegram, 
he turned, walked out of the parlor into the li- 
brary and sat down to write his answer. 

Fredrika followed him. After he had written 
the answer she was saying, “But, Herbert, it is 
best for you to say ‘Good-bye.’ ” 


THE ONE MAN 


77 


% Neither of them had heard the softly approach- 
ing footsteps. But when a sweet, familiar voice 
said : ^ ‘ Oh, pardon, Fredrika ; I thought you were 
alone;’’ they both rose and ran to grasp the 
slender form which seemed to reel towards them 
from the doorway. 

''Margaret! Oh, why did you walk so far?” 
cried Fredrika, as she reached out her arms to- 
wards her. But she had turned away as if she 
were an intruder. 

She had reached the newel post and attempted 
to ascend the stairs. In spite of Fredrika ’s as- 
sistance, she was sinking to the floor. 

"She is falling! Oh, Herbert, help me quick!” 

In an instant his arms were around her and he 
was carrying her apparent lifeless form back to 
her chamber. 

He laid her upon the couch and Fredrika op- 
ened the window and applied stimulants. Within 
a few moments the pink flushes were returning to 
her cheeks. 

Fredrika went to get a glass of water. He was 
alone with her. God grant that she would not 
awaken; that both would be saved that pain. 

He looked tenderly upon her face. He stroked 
her hair as if she were a child. His heart was 
full of pity. It was overflowing with his love. 

She opened her eyes. She looked at him in- 
tently. Then they closed; and when a moment 
later he was again looking into their depths, in- 
stead of the love which had but a few short hours 
before shone out so gloriously he now only saw 
a frigid leaden blue. 


78 


THE ONE MAN 


He thought she was dead. He bent over her 
a moment. His eyes were filled with tears. He 
took her hands and pressed them to his heart. 

‘‘Margaret. Margaret!^’ he called her name 
over and over again. 

But there was no answer. And then he placed 
his ear over her heart. Thank God, it was beat- 
ing. He had not killed her. 

Yes, she was alive. But dead — dead to him, 
forever. 

Even with this thought, he once more took her 
hands in his. For a brief moment he again held 
them close in his and then laid them reverently, 
tenderly upon her breast. 

It was an agonizing moment. One of those mo- 
ments in the life of men — and women, too — ^when 
love and all that stands for happiness is at an 
end. When the infiicted penalty with all its bit- 
terness is but just punishment for the vagaries 
of human pride. 

Upon the threshold Fredrika stood transfixed. 
She had witnessed his farewell. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A fortnight later, the dining hall of the 

club was ablaze with a hundred lights which 
streamed down through the beautiful chandeliers 
of gold and crystal. At one of the handsomely 
appointed tables sat twelve young men, each one 
representing as many well known Empire State 


THE ONE MAN 


79 


families. They were the guests of Herbert Von 
Hoffman and they were lingering leisurely over 
their cognac and coffee. 

In an adjoining room, an elderly and distin- 
guished man was also dining. He was quite 
alone; and like the young men, he, too, was sip- 
ping his coffee which had long before been served. 

A door leading to his private room had by acci- 
dent been left partially open. The host had re- 
cognized him. He announced to his guests that 
he would invite the venerable jurist to give them 
an after dinner talk. 

In an instant calls for the judge came from 

every one. Judge ’s name was a household 

word, and his popularity was national. 

Von Hoffman rose from the table and advanced 
toward the aged gentleman. 

''Well, well, Herbert, I am glad to see you. 
How is your sister, boy? Sit down, sit down.'' 

Herbert took a seat near him and after answer- 
ing his several questions of inquiry and imparting 
to him other information which he thought would 
be of interest he announced the object of his call. 

The old judge seemed delighted and after ex- 
pressing his pleasure at being thus remembered, 
he rose from his chair and picking up his hat 
and cane, he took the arm of his young friend 
and walked down through the long room to the 
banquet table. He was given an honored seat and 
then came a ringing applause. 

After the introductions and a bit of repartee, the 
host rose and formally announced the pleasure in 
store for his guests. 


80 


THE ONE MAN 


Again and again he was welcomed with en- 
thusiastic applause. 

He leaned back in his chair. A kindly smile 
played round his lips. His very attitude bespoke 
his gentleness, his interest in all mankind. 

His face was close shaven, his features clean 
cut and regular, his skin ruddy with the health 
tints of a vigorous old age; while his keen grey 
eyes, his lofty brow, his snow white hair, all gave 
evidence of a ripened experience, combined with 
broad charity and keen observation. One could not 
fail to see that he was a leader among men, a man 
upon whom men look with pride, to whom they 
seek the kindly cheer, and from whom they learn 
the lessons of maturer years. 

He rose and taking up the glass of cognac 
which had been placed before him, he touched it 
to his lips and said : 

''1 drink, gentlemen, to your health, and to the 
health and happiness of your host. You notice 
that my glass is undrained. One swallow is 
enough ; one swallow a day for a man of my 
years — ^half that for younger men. Eemember 
this, my young friends, and your wives will never 
know the miseries of a drunkard ^s home, and 
your children will not be cursed with imbecility 
or insanity.’’ 

The eyes of all were upon him. Their glasses 
were undrained. They were giving him marked 
attention. 

''My young friends,” he continued, "you are in 
light vein to-night ; and it is hardly meet for a 
man of my years to lend even a shadow here. But 


THE ONE MAN 


81 


your host has brought me out of my silent room, 
where I was communing with my own thoughts; 
where I was looking into a past longer than you 
have known; looking into a future which in all 
probability is nearer to me than it is to any of you. 

^^It is common with me now, when alone, — 
it is probably the same with all men of my years — 
to either live in the past, or to speculate on the 
Great Beyond. And it is well for young men to 
not forget — to not forget’’ . 

For a moment he seemed visibly affected; and 
for a few moments ceased speaking. At last he 
looked up. He was in a different mood. The 
mental visions, the memories had passed. 

''Marriage! A subject always of interest to 
men. Bachelors even, — all of you, — will not be 
averse to listen when a man of my years dis- 
courses upon the bond which seems to have had 
no attraction for you. 

" 'It is well known that we are living in an age 
in which we see not only the very highest type of 
civilized marriages, but, as well, the lowest, the 
most scandalous desecration of the marriage 
contract. ’ 

" 'The number of divorces in our country is ap- 
palling The pernicious condition is increasing, 
and there is today no subject pertaining to our 
social state which men and women, especially 
young men and young women, should so seriously 
consider. ’ 

" 'The agitation of this subject, preceding legal 
enactment thereon, is now before the people. 
Even now in some circles there is extraordinary 


82 


THE ONE MAN 


interest taken in this question. New legislation 
pertaining thereto is sure to be faulty, because it 
will deal with effects, not causes.’ 

‘In the discussions preceding action, legisla- 
tors high in the intellectual scale will vindicate 
divorce as a phase of evolution, and will even 
rejoice at its rapid extension into American life. 
They will argue that it leads to the happiness of 
‘oppressed women’ and releases men from ob- 
noxious contracts which render their existence 
‘miserable.’ Also ‘wretched’ men and ‘miserable’ 
women are bound to turn thereto for happiness.’ 

“ ‘All this sounds plausible. It appears to be 
most charitable; but it is not good logic, neither 
will it prove to be good law. Why? Because it is 
based only upon the selfishness of the individual ; 
and individual rights are only of importance when 
the social body to which individuals belong is not 
involved. If this be a phase — as they will choose 
to call it — of social evolution, then the survival of 
the fittest must show in the resulting conditions, 
not that which will bring happiness to the few, 
but which will result in the ultimate good of the 
race; that which will bring us as a nation out of 
the social debasement into which we are gradually 
drifting into the light of a more perfect day.’ 

“ ‘They will argue that as metals are purified by 
fire, so social states must be purified by their own 
evils. But when we are forced, as we are today, 
to look into the cauldrons of domestic infelicity, 
and see these masses of helpless children, weeping 
mothers, heart-broken women, disgraced men, 
ruined homes, blasted hopes and ambitions, we 


THE ONE MAN 


83 


would ask our reformers and legislators if there is 
not a better way than to let this evil work out its 
own salvation, through the long, long years. We 
would ask them to not listen to the clash of con- 
tending desires, but to hasten peace by building 
better than from the standpoint of the selfishness 
of these unfortunate ones, who in their personal 
misery can only call for the amelioration of their 
own distressing symptoms. We would ask them 
to hasten peace by treating the causes rather than 
the symptoms of this infectious social state.’ 

'In this, as in other diseases which affect 
society, men, women, society itself, must aid the 
world in the work of exterminating it. We must 
not expect too much from the law ; it can only deal 
with a part of the reform. 

" 'We would, however, ask our legislators for a 
law which will establish an age limit for mar- 
riage; one which would prohibit marriage until 
the twenty-fourth year. This would be a most 
practical measure ; not only in bringing about do- 
mestic happiness, but it would be equally valuable 
to society from the standpoint of dynamic hered- 
ity, in eliminating a vast amount of crime, vice, 
and poverty from our land.’ 

" 'Legal measure would also be appreciated 
which would make the parents of the unfortunate 
minor children involved, mutually responsible,-— 
according to their respective incomes, — for their 
maintenance. And I would have this remitted, 
not direct, but through a state department ; and I 
would furthermore have this law so broad in its 
significance that the world would not be wide 


84 


THE ONE MAN 


enough to shield the offenders from their duty. 
Equally responsible, also, should the deserting one 
become, — whenever necessary, as in illness, pov- 
erty, or old age, for the maint'jnance of the 
deserted one, whether it be husband or wife. 

^Another measure which we would solicit at 
the hands of our legislators, is a time limit for 
remarriage ; fixed alike for the offender and the 
offended. This would not be of so much impor- 
tance in checking the divorce evil per se, as to 
protect us as a people from the criticism which 
we receive from the indiscreetness of subjects 
who think more of themselves than they do of the 
good name of their native land, or of their own 
reputation for good sense or good taste.’ 

'' 'In case of death, common decency will gen- 
erally keep a man or woman from remarriage for 
a period of at least one year; and in justice to our 
national reputation, in justice to the individual, 
in justice to the social body, which tolerates such 
offenses, even against its unwritten laws, we trust 
that there will be a time limit fixed for a remar- 
riage of at least one year, even a longer period if 
the offense necessitating divorce be criminal or 
wilfully malicious. Such measures would be none 
too severe in order to discipline the offending par- 
ticipant, for deliberately dissolving a contract 
upon which the welfare of our nation rests.’ 

'• 'The law of Church — especially the Roman 
Catholic Church — has not been fully appreciated 
in its influence for good in the body social. With 
communicants of this faith, the marriage contract, 
once made, can only be dissolved by death. It 


THE ONE MAN 


85 


\ 


permits separation, but never consents to the ab- 
solute dissolution of the bond/ 

'' 'Cardinal Gibbons says: 'The law of the 
Church, absolutely prohibiting divorce, a vinculo 
may sometimes appear rigorous and cruel; but its 
harshness is mercy when compared with the 
frightful miseries resulting from the toleration of 
divorce. Its inconveniences are infinitesimal 
when compared with the colossal evils from which 
it saves society, and the solid blessings which it 
secures to countless homes.’ ’ 

" 'He further says: 'Such teachings, say what 
you will regarding its severity, proves the Church 
to be a friend to society everywhere. It sinks the 
selfishness of the individual; it inculcates philo- 
sophic self-denial in the individual, and is, from 
every standpoint, a valuable factor in the up- 
building of character. Far more, indeed, than 
that manifested by the petty selfishness of men 
and women, who, if things domestic are not quite 
to their liking, or if they have made a thoughtless 
blunder in their marriage selection, stand out in 
their childishnesss and like the Mohammedan say : 
"Thou are; or thou shall be divorced!” ’ 

" 'The soldier surmounts the difficulties of his 
march; the scholar through his mistakes learns 
the principles of even occult problems. It is the 
royal road to victory in war and education. But 
the man or woman who is confronted with even 
the slightest of domestic diffculties, or misunder- 
standing, not only fails to use ordinary judgment 
in the readjustment of the same, but sneaks away 
like a veritable coward; shirking the temporary 


86 


THE ONE MAN 


hardships, the petty annoyances in the battle of 
life, and flees into conditions which may not 
prove to be one whit better.’’ 

He reached for a glass of water. Should he go 
on? Yes; the hour was propitious; he would turn 
to a more practical phase of the subject. 

misconception of the physiologic nature of 
mankind is also, no doubt, one of the most potent 
causes of domestic infelicity. It is a blunder of 
society to have so long neglected education 
thereon. Men and women have been taught much, 
very much, of how to deal with the effects of 
ordinary physiologic errors, but oux educational 
system is grossly inefficient in teaching causal in- 
fluences, especially those pertaining to the evolu- 
tion of our physic, and physiologic nature.’ 

Hn connection with this subject I shall allude 
to that remaining vestige of the primitive nature 
of man; the tendency to polygamous instincts; 
the inclination to transfer affection, or to be able 
to distribute equally, among many individuals the 
same amorous attentions to be observed in the 
lower brute creation. And there is no question, 
gentlemen, that this vestigal polygamous instinct 
stands as one of the most important causes in 
marital unhappiness. It breeds the germs of jeal- 
ousy and infidelity, and thousands of happy homes 
and as many human lives are wrecked because 
men and women have not learned the laws of 
nature; learned them in order to conquer them.’ 

'Physiologists know this to be true. Nordau 
has long ago told us that while evolutionary 
forces, education, and moral training have natu- 


THE ONE MAN 


87 


rally eliminated this instinct from civilized man, 
it yet remains for society to so educate man, the 
individual, that he will himself suppress and 
subdue these polygamous instincts when he once 
knows hovT perniciously they affect his own hap- 
piness and that of the family/ 

‘‘ ‘But man does not understand his nature, the 
evolution of his body and mind, else he would, 
except he be degenerate, gladly aid society in 
eliminating the influence of these primal instincts. 
He, too, as well as the body social, is the victim of 
these ill understood vestigal remnants.’ 

“ ‘Society and the Church both say to him : ‘ Be- 
th ou monogamous,’ and then give him no chance 
to learn the lessons of his own creation. And it 
is this failure, this indifference of society to ad- 
just man’s nature to the ideals which civilization 
sets before him, that is responsible for a great 
deal of marital unhappiness. Men and women as 
individuals would do better if they knew the 
laws of life better. As it is, the majority of them 
go drifting on, the victims of misguided impulses, 
which not only bring sorrow to their loved ones, 
but misery and death unto themselves.’ 

“ ‘Not unimportant also as a cause of unhappy 
marriages is a lack of tactful management on the 
part of both husband and wife, together with such 
conduct as would unbecome any other position in 
life. Rank impoliteness, lack of sympathy, inor- 
dinate selfishness, cruel thoughtlessness, slyness, 
and deception may all be included as causes of 
domestic troubles leading to divorce or separation. 

“ ‘We teach young men the good manners of 


88 


THE ONE MAN 


public and private life ; and he becomes a boor 
under his own domiciliary environment. We give 
young women the culture which we think ideal; 
and she turns out to be a saucy, fiendish vixen 
after a few months or years of married life. As 
parents, men and women err in not training chil- 
dren for marriage, the most important co-opera- 
tive business in the world. ^ 

‘‘ ^Perhaps among the more simple causes of do- 
mestic infelicity, lack of ordinary politeness 
stands at the head. The husband after a few 
years of married life fails to extend to his wife 
the attentions belonging to polite society. In 
reply to an ordinary inquiry she gets a short, in- 
different answer, more curt than he would give 
the stranger tramp within his gates. He reads the 
newspaper at his own table as he does in the pub- 
lic cafe. He hastens to his business morning and 
noon, and the evening finds him at the lodge or 
his club. He is silent and uncordial in his home, 
although a most affable and agreeable man in 
society and in business.’ 

The aches and pains of womankind receive no 
sympathy from him. The longing for sympathy, 
for the gentle wordsfor compliment, for praise, 
of love, all of so much importance in the feminine 
nature, is ignored, even to the point of gross in- 
difference. We do not understand, but around 
the wives of such men there will be, through the 
long years, a wall in building ; its construction is 
of real suffering, and its dimensions are immeas- 
urable. In these cases there may or may not be 
separation or divorce ; but inside its confines sits a 


THE ONE MAN 


89 


lonely woman, her ideals destroyed, her heart a 
sealed tomb. If there be children, this suffering 
goes on. If not, clandestine love, divorce, suicide.’ 

‘ ^ Gentlemen, this is all wrong. It is largely pre- 
ventable. Men are thoughtless ; not always inten- 
tionally so; but thoughtless nevertheless. The 
cares of business and those of professional duties 
are deeply engrossing, at times extremely aggra- 
vating. Even ordinary manual labor has its per- 
plexities; and the fatigue from all requires the 
quiet hour, the rest, the freedom from the care of 
life. 

‘‘But it is not this. 

“Men are naturally kind. They err through 
ignorance. Through not understanding woman’s 
nature. Men are trained in all else except marital 
adaptation. They enter into this, the most impor- 
tant contract known to civilization, a contract in 
which women figure most prominently, and they 
fail, because society has not taught them the A B 
C of marital culture. 

“Women also err along the lines just men- 
tioned; but they are more certain to offend by 
selfishness and vanity. Among the well-to-do 
there is an attempt to outdo others, to attract at- 
tention, in the hope of receiving admiration, to- 
gether with an insatiate love of social prominence, 
which in many instances overrides the love of 
home and family. 

In those less favorably situated from a financial 
standpoint, this selfishness and vanity results in a 
struggle between despair and dishonesty, from 
living in excess of the family income. And from 


90 


THE ONE MAN 


all classes, jealous, discouraged husbands make 
up a mass of humanity truly miserable. They are 
the class found in our saloons, in the brothels, in 
the gambling hells, and in our penitentiaries. 
Yes, even our death statistics — if one reads be- 
tween the lines — furnish a full quota of victims 
from these conditions. 

'‘Women most deeply sin. Many of them, how- 
ever, are absolutely irresponsible. They suffer 
equally with their husbands in these marital sor- 
rows. They fail; and also because they do not 
know a better way. They, like the men who be- 
come their husbands, have not been trained for 
married life. They, too, are drifting. We must 
ask society to look after them better. We must 
ask the mothers of our land to make home-makers 
of our daughters. 

"As I go in and out of this city I cannot tell the 
millionaire’s son from the janitor’s; outside of my 
acquaintances I know not the daughters of wealth 
from the shop girls on the avenue. When I visit 
the home of the laboring man I find a sumptuous- 
ness in its furnishing far in excess of the income 
there. And I observe among the members of his 
household a tendency to dress in prevailing styles, 
an inclination to sit with folded hands. Father 
works; he is even bent with toil, and upon his 
face the lines of care grow deeper every year. 
But his daughters! Ah, how it would disgrace 
them to become helpers in the world 1 

"A curse indeed the social state which is re- 
sponsible for such false pretences. Most rapidly 
it is breeding men and women of the kind which 


THE ONE MAN 


91 


go on forever in the destruction of hearts and 
homes. 

‘'The remedy? 

“We must ask society to make the simple life 
popular and work respectable. To make the real 
take the place of the unreal; and to cleanse its 
own body from the infections which are sapping 
its very life.’’ 

Again he paused; there was something more to 
say. 

“And I appeal to you, my young friends, sons 
of the old families of this dear state, will you 
not help humanity to simplify its life? Not the 
simple life of the insane delusionist who walks 
our street, barefooted, bareheaded, half clad, half 
starved; but to that life of rational simplicity, 
through which will be manifested right thinking, 
right action, right means of livelihood, all of 
which will unite mankind in one universal broth- 
erhood. 

“My young friends, ponder well upon these 
questions. They are of the supremest importance 
at the present time. The world will need its 
leaders here as it has needed them in its past 
struggles for the liberty of humanity. And it is 
my prayer, my hope, that New York may retrieve 
its past, obliterating its share of notoriety from 
ephemeral alliances, and stand, through its young 
men at the very front in curbing society’s thought- 
less destruction of our domestic ideals. May it be 
said of you all, gentlemen, representing as you 
do the wealth, the education, the power to influ- 
ence — that you will demand a change in the social 


92 


THE ONE MAN 


life of this section, and that in your marriages 
you will evermore stand for such alliances as will 
be steadfast 'even unto death/ That you will de- 
mand that there shall be incorporated in the 
sacred contract, — not the power of gold — not 
the mandates of a false social regime, — but that 
higher law of Divine origin, a union of body, soul, 
and spirit, the perfect triune state. 

"And furthermore, may you not forget that 
with yourselves rests to a great extent the ability 
of making your home a heaven or a hell. Learn, 
then, well of womankind ; she is worthy of a better 
heritage than our present social state is giving 
her; for hidden polygamy and divorce is sinking 
her into slavery and degradation. Make her as 
the most worthy Gibbons tells you: ‘A queen of 
the kingdom of home; a queen, only to be de- 
throned by death.’ ” 

He paused again and looked from one to the 
other of the young men who had sat so silently 
through the long hour which had passed. Then 
raised a glass of water to his lips : 

"I drink of this — Nature’s own beverage. 
Drink to the honor of ideal womanhood wher- 
ever it is found. Drink to my faith in the new 
womanhood which will help man build better 
than he has. — To the new woman to whom our 
legislators must look to help them in leading the 
world into ways of peace, especially of peaceful 
hearts and homes. To the new man who will 
blunder less and study more. To the comrad- 
erie, and friendship which will accompany love 
in the new era of domestic life. To the one wo- 


THE ONE MAN ^ 


93 


man who is now waiting for each of you. The 
one woman, whom I trust you will not cast aside 
for any reason when you find her. To the one 
woman, whom I hope you will not find too late.'’ 


No one observed the pallor which came over 
the face of the popular young host when, with 
his guests, he walked out into the misty night. 

He went to his hotel and entering his apart- 
ments he walked up to a mirror, throwing his hat 
and coat a moment later into a nearby chair say 
ing as he did so : ' ' The words cut deep. For me, 
it is too late — too late." 

He sat in silence for some moments. His face 
was tense. Upon it one could read the fierce 
bitterness possessing his soul. After a while he 
closed his eyes and leaned back heavily against 
the chair. He was not sleeping, but a glowing 
flush came slowly back into his cheeks. Again 
he felt her face close to his. Again he thrilled 
under the pressure of his kiss upon her brow. 
For a moment a terrible temptation seized him. 
On the morrow he would see her again. She 
should marry him, — not Judson Patmore. 

Then the thought that perhaps she did not love 
him came into his mind. And he lived over 
again that last hour in her presence when he had 
looked into her somber eyes. How dead they 
seemed, and yet he knew that when she recov- 
ered she asked for him before she thought of her 
affianced husband. Finally, the memories and 
the impulses faded away, and in their place a 


94 


THE O^E MAN 


bitterer remorse than he had known filled his 
soul. His was the false pride ; his the lost oppor- 
tunity; his, the moral weakness; and the suffer- 
ing should be his also. Ah, what wretchedness 
it had brought to him. He wondered if he could 
endure it forever ? 

When the morning dawned, he rose and paced 
the floor. He had not slept. He had been fight- 
ing out the supreme struggle of his life. When 
the sun came out of the East, its effulgence 
seemed to brighten him ; it filled him with a cour- 
age which helped him to be strong. 

He was not accustomed to praying; but with 
an almost unconscious impulse, he walked swiftly 
towards his couch. He knelt beside its snowy 
whiteness and for hours he remained in com- 
munion with his God. When he rose his face 
evidenced a suffering like unto the agony of the 
cross. 

He had won the victory. He would be a man 
at last. Margaret should be saved from tempta- 
tion. Her promise to Judson Patmore should not 
be broken. 

He fell asleep when the sun was well up in the 
heavens, and at nightfall he had not yet awak- 
ened. It was a peaceful sleep. He had been 
comforted in the thought, that if not through 
reason, through spiritual strength, he would be 
able to subdue the power of love. 

A week later he was on the ocean. The old 
world was in sight. 


1 


CHAPTER X. 

For six years Margaret had been Judson Pat- 
more’s wife. They had traveled in many lands 
and had exhausted to the utmost the pleasures 
constituting the carnival of the new rich. 

It was midwinter and upon one of the broad 
verandas of a magnificent hotel overlooking the 
Pacific, they, with many others were sitting in 
idleness, vaguely looking out on the shining wa- 
ters of this Western sea. They were not in con- 
versation, and the expression upon each face in- 
dicated that neither were thinking of the vast 
expanse of beauty stretching out before them. 
To the guests they appeared like father and 
daughter j he politely attentive, she somewhat in- 
different to his solicitous care. It was evident 
that the infirmities of age were upon him; for 
his fashionable coat, low cut white waistcoat, 
light grey trousers and patent leather shoes did 
not in the least disguise the thin face, the short 
clipped hair and tinted eyebrows; and also did 
not hide from the casual observer, the withered 
muscles and markedly fiabby skin. The tell-tale 
ring of age was well set around the faded blue 
of the now expressionless eyes, while within they 
were growing sightless with the cataractous 
changes of the years. Like a martyr, he was try- 


96 


THE ONE MAN 


ing to overcome the tremor of dying nerve cen- 
ters, but he was unsuccessful. It is Nature’s 
way ; the symptom of inevitable dissolution, 
against which ail human efforts are powerless, 
and for which no immortal fountain flows. After 
a while he rose from his chair and leaned heavily 
upon his massive golden headed cane. A dia- 
mond shone forth from his finger; but the bril- 
liancy of the unfading thing still more enhanced 
the sallowness of his wasted hand. 

For a moment he stood in a trembling attitude 
and then slowly and with unsteadiness of gait he 
walked over to a stately palm. He stood there 
for some time and then shuffling about, he turned 
and rested his eyes upon his young wife who 
was still looking out upon the sea. 

He walked back to the place where she was 
sitting and addressed her in an undertone. She 
immediately rose and laying her hand upon his 
arm, they walked down the long veranda, on 
into the corridor leading to the dining hall. 

The guests looked their admiration. 

Yes, she was fair. Her hair was like the silken 
flax, aye, more like floss of gold, with a sheen 
that reminded one of the sea bird’s wing flashing 
under the noonday sun. The wind had brought 
a rose tint to her cheeks, her lips were full with 
rich warm blood which flowed like unpent waters 
’neath their transparent surfaces. And such a 
smile ! The kind which comes and goes across 
some faces spontaneous as a laughing sunbeam. 
A subtle something which men have died for since 
the world began. 


THE ONE MAN 


97 


She wore upon her hair a mass of filmy lace. 
It was artistically draped into a modish Paris cre- 
ation; a fitting crown above so fair a brow. Her 
gown was also an old world fabric, and so deftly 
woven as to faintly show the shapely shoulders 
underneath its sheeny texture, while over its cor- 
sage hung a sparkling strand of precious gems. 

As they entered the dining hall, they were con- 
ducted to a table evidently in reserve. Other 
guests followed, and the room was soon filled 
with men and women. The dinner hour was long 
and in that time no one had failed to look upon 
Margaret ^s face. Her attitude was still an in- 
different one. Silently she sat before her aged 
companion, once only looking into his face, then 
turning away, as if to gaze upon the setting sun 
or to watch the sea birds in their evening fiight. 

He was overheard by those who sat near, to 
ask her why she did not eat — why she did not 
speak. He also wondered if she were ill. He 
looked intently upon her face. He thought it 
strangely white under the now oncoming lights. 

The dinner was finished and Margaret had left 
untouched all the tempting viands. Upon the 
cloth her white hand lay limp and cold. Under 
its weight of gems, the life current was moving, 
but in her heart she thought it would soon stop, 
so agonizing was the pain. 

They rose and left the table. She saw not one 
of the hundred faces looking up into her own. 
Ah ! not now. Like ashes of the Dead Sea, the ad- 
miration of men and women. Like ashes of the 
Dead Sea, the emptiness of all that wealth could 


98 


THE ONE MAN 


bring her. In that hour she would have ex- 
changed it all for love, a love which she had 
known so long ago. 

It was remarked that she was ill. 111? Yes; 
sick unto death. The agony of a soul suffering 
from a fatal mistake, from a poison administered 
by society! 

Eeaching their apartments, Mr. Patmore sug- 
gested a physician. He laid his trembling hand 
upon her head. She shuddered under the kindly 
touch. She begged to return to the open air. 
She knew it would revive her. 

Ah 1 yes, it would. He urged her to go, and 
pressing a kiss upon her lips, he pleaded fatigue 
and retired to his chamber. 

She hurriedly left him, and hastening down the 
stairs, she almost ran down the veranda to a well 
secluded spot. She sat down and turned her 
face away from all observers. 

Her color came. ^^Ah, how sweet to be alone. 
Alone with God and my own soul 1 ’ ’ 

She started. She wondered if her thoughts 
were uttered loud enough to be heard. 

The water was calm and silvery under the ev- 
ening moon. The music was softly dying away. 
The fleecy clouds were scudding toward the west. 
The splashing waves broke gently against the 
rocks. The stillness was heavenly. 

The guests departed one by one. She knew 
not when she was at last alone. Knew not that 
the midnight hour was near. Ah, no; for she 
was dreaming. Dreaming of another day; of the 
rocks and sand-banks of another sea. Dreaming 


THE ONE MAN 


99 


that she was a child again and romping on its 
shores. 

She felt the spray upon her face. She sung a 
Celtic ballad to the winds. She laughed; she 
played. Her feet were bare and her pink dress! 
Ah, it was beautiful — 

Suddenly a young Japanese maid rushed out 
from the corridor and ran swiftly down to where 
her mistress was sleeping. 

‘'Madame! Mrs. Patmore — he sent me for you. 

She started suddenly and as suddenly rose and 
walked down to the hotel entrance. A moment 
later she had reached her apartments. The maid 
passed on into an adjoining room. She loitered 
there for some time and when she returned she 
paused at the door. Her mistress was upon her 
knees. She was weeping bitterly. Between the 
sobs and tears she was sure she heard these 
words : 

“Ah, that I might have dreamed,— dreamed on 
forever. ’’ 


CHAPTER XI. 

A day of despair, this one; and its closing mo- 
ments were filled with the bitterness of death 
itself. But at last she arose from her knees and 
had made up her mind to endure whatever life had 
in store for her. She was Judson Patmore’s 
wife. She would endure it; she would no longer 
dream ; she would banish regret ; for her ambition 
was wrecked. 


100 


THE ONE MAN 


She did not know that Koette was on the 
threshold. She smiled as she dismissed her for 
the night and turned away towards her hus- 
band’s apartments. 

He reached forth his hand as she leaned over 
him to say good night; and then he smiled and 
like a little child he fell asleep. She sat by his 
side long into the night. It was past four in the 
morning before she disrobed to lie down upon 
her own couch across the room. For an hour 
she tossed upon the bed. It was wonderfully soft. 
Its linens were costly. The coverings were silk. 
She wondered why repose was always sweet to 
those who slept upon rags and straw. 

She listened to her husband’s heavy breathing 
She raised her head and looked over to the place 
where he slept. She looked well into his face. 
His mouth was open. It was toothless. His 
white hair was straggling and disarranged. ^ She 
sighed softly and again laid her golden head 
upon the pillow. Once more she drew the 
soft covers over her shoulders and then at the 
dawn she fell asleep. 

In her dream upon the veranda she had lived 
her childhood over again; but in this one of the 
morning, she reveled in the happiness and hopes 
of her young womanhood. She lived her old time 
love for Herbert Von Hoffman. Its realization 
and its ecstasy engulfed her soul. . . But again 
she was awake and then there came to her a 
keener disappointment than she had known be- 
fore, and with it the chagrin, the consciousness 
of the degradation of having sacrificed herself in 


k 


THE ONE MAN 


101 


/ the hope of reaching the social plane of the man 
she loved — the man who loved her. For six 
years she had suffered an almost unbearable ex- 
istence as the wife of Judson Patmore. Not one 
hour in all that time that she had not dreamed of a 
day when freedom would come to her. Dreamed 
of a triumphant hour when he whom she loved 
would come to her. And she had fully forgiven 
him. She had condoned his weakness, his indis- 
cretions; and she fully understood his pride. 
Yes, perhaps better than he, she understood the 
social state which had kept him from making her 
his wife in the old days. And she had done her 
best. She had avoided meeting him, and lived in 
apparent content with Judson Patmore. And it 
would not have been long before she could return 
to her old home; and then as mistress of the. Pat- 
more millions, society would have forgotten that 
she was the daughter of Michael Sullivan ; that 
her childhood's home was but a hut, a shack 
along the shore.— And now to know that it had 
not profited her to sell her soul; to have read in 
yesterday's paper that Herbert Von Hoffman was 
married. 

She raised herself on her elbow, and turning 
her face quickly to one side she buried it deeply 
in the soft down. She sobbed softly. Ah, had 
his love been as hers, he would have waited for- 
ever. But no— man's love for woman — what a 
different thing it was. Never to see Itim again. 
Only to live and die. Nothing in iife but to burn 
out the precious emotion. To grow old, and to 
forget him forever. Her brain throbbed. And 


102 


THE ONE MAN 


then she wept out the anguish of the hour and 
fell asleep. 

Again she dreamed. She was in the beautiful 
Patmore home. It was her wedding day and she 
was wearing her bridal gown. How beautiful 
and costly its lace. How priceless the pearls 
which adorned her neck and hair. And how 
proud she was. With what joyousness she greeted 
the guests as they passed her one by one. And 
then the compliments; the praise; and with all 
the proud smile of the man who was her hus- 
band. 0, what a power was gold! She had not 
known it so fully before. Verily, the open sesame 
to an exclusive world, a world which less than 
a year before had seemed to close it doors upon 
her — even upon her heart. How magically it had 
raised her from poverty and obscurity to dazzling 
heights 1 How marvelously in her case it was en- 
trancing the passing crowds 1 

It was a satisfying dream. It seemed to banish 
from her brain the nervousness, the disappoint- 
ment of the day before. It assuaged for a mo- 
ment the heart pain she had endured for years. 
Like a draught of nectar, it obtunded the severe 
realities of life. She rejoiced to know that the 
pleasure of wealth outranked even the transient 
loves of earth. 

She partially awakened and turned her face 
away from a ray of morning sunshine, which had 
forced itself through the curtain. 

The dream picture changed. 

It was her wedding night. She was alone in a 
magnificent apartment in the same palatial home. 


THE ONE MAN 


103 


It was her bridal chamber; and from its walls of 
azure velvet, the gold and crystal mirrors re- 
flected back the real Margaret. From their depths 
she saw herself hesitatingly remove that bridal 
gown, and so slowly unloose her golden hair that 
its strands fell in lifeless masses upon her 
shoulders — shoulders which felt like marble as 
she passed her jewelled hand over their snowy 
whiteness. From eyes looking back into her 
own, she saw a sadness indescribable. The re- 
flection was dim; but she was sure they were 
filled with unshed tears. She looked again; and 
through them she discerned vibrations shaking 
her form. Her maid was handing her the bridal 
robe de nuit. How beautiful it was ; but oh ! how 
it chilled her when she donned the costly thing. 
Perhaps there was no fire on the hearth. 

She pressed a delicate handkerchief close to 
her lips. She looked again into the mirror’s 
depths. 

She saw the same Margaret kneeling beside a 
richly canopied couch. She was bending her 
head upon her hands. They rested there for a 
long time. But no words went up to God. There 
was even no thought of prayer within her soul. . . 

The dream picture changed again. This Mar- 
garet had arisen to her feet. She was listening 
with a beating heart to the now approaching foot- 
steps. The blue eyes fell; their long lashes 
swept downward upon rose-flushed cheeks. An 
aged man entered the room, closed the door be- 
hind him and turned the key. He came close to 
her. The mirror reflected back a pitying plead- 


104 


THE ONE MAN 


ing glance. He answered it by pressing bis thin 
lips against her own. He was clasping her to his 
heart. He was calling her his bride, ... his 
wife 

She had awakened. Her dream was at an end. 
She opened her eyes and the same face was bend- 
ing over her, the same arms were outstretched 
again towards her, and they would embrace her 
as on that dreadful night. 

Until yesterday she had been able to endure 
this man as her husband for the sake of reaching 
through him her heart’s best love at last, but now 
she was like a maniac as she rose from her couch 
and rushed past and away from him crying : 

‘^Ah, the sin of this! May God help the weak- 
ness of woman!” 

He made no attempt to stay her, or to follow 
her. He seemed to know that such a crisis was 
but natural. 

For six days and nights she remained alone. 
When she came into his presence again he knew 
she was resigned. 


CHAPTER XII. 

Two years passed since the morning when 
Margaret gave expression to the repulsion which 
she felt towards her aged husband. The hope 
which had until that day lived in her heart, and 
which made her life with him endurable, was 
dead, and with it she had buried her ambition 


THE ONE MAN 


105 


and pride. She now lived because she must, but 
in all the time since that day there had been no 
hour in which she would not have welcomed 
death. 

She had not taken refuge in nerves or head- 
aches. She was instead always self-possessed 
and calm. Once only had a feeling of revenge 
swept over her, and in that moment she had re- 
solved to win Herbert Von Hoffman at whatever 
cost. But the tempter was silenced, her better 
self became assertive, and she had lived the im- 
pulse down. 

Her husband well knew her feelings towards 
him but not once had he mentioned the subject 
to her. She was his wife ; she bore his name ; 
she accepted from him the lavishness of wealth 
most graciously and he did not expect more. 

Of the love which had existed in her heart in 
all these years he knew not. He only was cog- 
nizant that she did not seem happy. He too had 
learned that marriage at his age with one so 
young was a failure. He longed for companion- 
ship, for sympathy, such as a woman nearer his 
own age can only give to men of his years. But 
he too was silent. What more could he have ex- 
pected? And he did not permit it to disturb 
him. He knew that death was near. He felt it. 

She could see him fail daily. He was restless 
and lived much in the past. He mumbled to him- 
self. He awakened and prattled like a child at 
play. He was amused with childish things and 
she tolerated his foibles; and was like a little 
mother to him in her efforts to make him happy. 


106 


THE ONE MAN 


It was a lonely life. It was hard and confining; 
but it was her duty and her penance. 

She lived on through the days and months; 
lived because she must live her life — the one 
which she thought she had been forced to choose. 
Lived without hope, — without love, trying ever 
to be faithful to her marriage vows. 

Others would have sought separation, — divorce. 
There had been hours and days when she, too, 
had felt the temptation. But she had overcome 
it. The mistake was hers. She had entered into 
the marriage against the advice of her best 
friend; and it also carried with it no blessing of 
her Church. It was a marriage into which 
worldly ambition had forced her. A marriage 
which she felt sure had broken her father's heart. 
It was a sinful marriage because through it she 
had only hoped to reach another love. She would 
bear it uncomplainingly, womanly, to the end. 


Another year passed and the Easter bells were 
joyously ringing from the belfry of a little church 
on the Pacific coast. To this quiet place Mar- 
garet had brought her husband some weeks be- 
fore. For some time he had been under the care 
of a physician and two nurses. They were with 
him on this morning, and she was standing at a 
window looking out on the people who were on 
their way to the festival service. 

A tap on the door caused her to turn away. 
It was one of the nurses who summoned her to 


THE ONE MAN 


107 


the bedside of her husband. The physician 
looked grave. 

‘‘It is paralysis/' he said, “A hemorrhage in 
the brain." 

With the doctor she looked down into the face 
of the now unconscious man. She knew it was 
the beginning of the end. 

She clasped her hand against her heart. She 
thought what a fearful thing was death. A pity 
came into her soul. Ah ! no, she had not neg- 
lected him. Even with her own hands she had a 
thousand times administered to his comfort. And 
she knew that he had done his best for her; knew 
that he had tried to make her happy. Such hap- 
piness as could come through material things — 
things which could be bought with gold. And he 
had been kind, — and she had done the best, the 
very best she could. It comforted her to know 
that. Only once, on that winter morning, when 
the light had gone out of her life, when hope was 
dead had she ever given him an hour of pain. 
And he had not reprimanded her. Somehow she 
always thought that he must have understood. 
That he must have pitied her. 

She was aroused by the doctor's voice. He was 
saying that it would be a long illness. 

And so it was. At times in the succeeding 
days he would seem improved ; and then for hours 
he would lapse into semi-unconsciousness talking 
in a strange rambling way. 

She thought it strange that he never asked for 
her. He seemed not to know her. He never 
spoke her name. 


108 


THE ONE MAN 


One day as she sat by his bedside, she heard 
the names Marion and Nellie. He repeated them 
twice, quite audibly, and then he raved in a 
strange gibberish, which none could understand. 

‘‘How strange that he should speak like this. 
It seems a real language, but one unknown to 
me,’’ she said as she looked up at the nurse who 
was standing near. 

“It is but delirium,” the nurse replied. “Per- 
haps the memory of something he has heard or 
read.” They listened, but they knew no word. 
Margaret remarked that he spoke no foreign 
tongue. 

The nurse bent closer over him. He appeared 
anxious to communicate something. She listened 
again. She said, “It sounds like a Slavonic dia- 
lect, although I get no words well.” 

Margaret then tried to listen. “A name!” she 
said, bending still closer to catch it clearly. 
“Natalje!” Listen nurse.” She repeated it after 
him. “Natalje! Yes, Natalje!” 

Historical! Margaret knew better than that. 

Again the nurse was listening for another 
word. 

“Lusky. Lusky,” she was repeating it after 
him, looking up into Margaret’s face. 

Margaret seemed confused. 

Again the nurse insisted that he must have 
known the language of the Slav. 

To this Margaret did not reply. She realized 
that after all she could not refute it, and for the 
first time since her marriage it came to her that 
she did not even know where her husband was 


THE ONE MAN 


109 


born. He had never spoken to her either of his 
parents or his childhood, and she had not asked 
him. She only knew him as Jndson Patmore, the 
millionaire, and nothing more. 

Again the nurse placed her ear close to the 
patient’s face. His voice was growing faint. His 
speech was almost inarticulate. Madame,” she 
said, ' ' What he tries to say is in verse ; it sounds 
like a sing song measured rhythm.” 

She stopped talking and took his pulse. ''He 
is sinking. He will not speak again, although he 
may linger for hours. And then turning to- 
wards Margaret she said: "Mrs. Patmore, you 
can do nothing for him. Will you not take some 
rest?” 

Margaret demurred, but the nurse again in- 
sisted. Finally she bent over his face for a mo- 
ment and laid her hand upon his head. It was 
the best she could do. It did not represent the 
anguish of a heart breaking under the struggle 
of the final separation. In it there was not the 
hypocrisy of unfelt grief. It represented truth. 

When she reached her apartments, she threw 
herself upon her couch and thought how little 
she had known of the man with whom she had 
lived as wife and companion during the past eight 
years. He could not have been a bad man, surely 
he had no appearance of that. He was a di- 
vorced man, but they even are not always wicked 
men. And still, it seemed to her that there was 
something, yes, many things, which she ought to 
know ; that she ought to have known long before. 
She had been blind. Girls were always thought- 


110 


THE ONE MAN 


less. And thus she mused on and on until she 
fell asleep. 

She slept late into the morning and it was well. 

On the morrow she would become the inheritor 
of the Patmore millions. On the morrows of the 
future she would wear the thorny crown which 
accompanied them. 


'The long night had also passed away in the sick 
chamber. With the dawn the nurses saw that Mr. 
Patmore would not survive the day. Towards 
noon the end seemed rapidly approaching. He 
was breathing noisily and slow. 

‘'Shall we call her?’ inquired the young nurse 
of her superior. 

“No, let her sleep; she is all tired out now 
waiting for the old man to die,” she replied sar- 
castically. 

‘ ‘ Oh, let us not be harsh, ’ ’ said the other. ‘ ‘ She 
looks so kind ; and really. Miss Kinster, my heart 
just aches for her. Such a beautiful girl the wife 
of this old man ! ’ ’ and she shuddered and turned 
her face towards the window. 

“It’s the truth, nevertheless,” replied the elder 
nurse. “I, for one, pity old men with young 
wives. It’s a good thing he don’t realize her in- 
difference. Just think of not inquiring this entire 
morning how he is. You can’t tell me that she’ll 
not be glad when he breathes his last. I’ll bet 


THE ONE MAN 


111 


that this very minute she is sitting in front of the 
grate, warming her dainty feet and sipping cof- 
fee, speculating on what she’s going to do with 
all his money. ” 

She leaned close to the face of the young 
woman. ^‘Yes, ” she continued, ‘‘and I wouldn’t 
be afraid to bet anything that she’s got another 
man all picked out and waiting this very day.” 

They turned to moisten the old gentleman’s 
lips; and then desiring a change of air, together 
they walked out into the corridor. 

“Girl,” said Miss Kinster, as they leisurely 
walked down the hall, “I’ve nursed a long time 
and it’s not the first case I’ve seen when a wom- 
an was apparently glad when her husband died. 
Yes, and many a new partner, too, I’ve seen 
picked out long, long before the old one was 
dead.” 

“But you do not know this of her. And, too, 
she has been most kind to him; as kind as any 
young woman could be to such an old man who 
was her husband,” said the young woman inter- 
rupting her. 

“Yes, but she’s got her pay for it, at a thou- 
sand dollars a minute for every kind look she ever 
gave the poor old man,” snapped out the woman. 

“But,” said the other, “I cannot think her as 
mercenary as that. She is not an adventuress. 
She is some misguided girl who has sold herself 
for gold. She has, and is now making the best of 
it. We cannot expect her to — ” 

“Love him? No,” she answered sharply. 
“And that’s the pity of it. She ought to love him; 


/ 


112 


THE ONE MAN 


at least for all this money she ought to make him 
think she loves him. Yon know yon can make 
men believe anything yon want to.’’ 

The yonng nnrse looked at her in disgnst. 

‘‘And I’ll bet more than all that, too, Miss; that 
woman has a hist’ry. And if yon and I conld 
read it we’d be fnrnishing the newspaper a lot 
more interesting copy than by sending Mr. Pat- 
more’s death notice into the office.” 

They had walked down the long hall. For 
some moments the yonng woman did not speak. 
Finally she said, “Miss Kinster, I jnst don’t care, 
I love Mrs. Patmore, and I don’t blame her for 
not loving” — 

They heard a stifled sonnd, and together they 
hastened to the bedside of their patient. 

He had ceased breathing. Alone, withont the 
snstaining hand of even a paid nnrse, with no one 
near to drop a silent tear; withont apparently 
one friend to regret his demise, Jndson Patmore 
had passed into the Great Beyond. 

The elder nnrse smoothed back his snow white 
hair, adjnsted the connterpane over his shrnnken 
form and closed his eyes. She held her Angers for 
some moments over the flabby lids, and then 
standing back where she conld look npon his face, 
she said: “Poor old man! I wonder if in all this 
world there is not someone who loves yon; some- 
one who wonld feel a pang if they knew that yon 
were gone!” 

The yonng nnrse had gone to the door of Mar- 
garet’s apartments. She tapped gently and was 
bidden to enter. “Madame,” she said softly. 


THE ONE MAN 


113 


“Mrs. Patmore, it is over. He is at rest now. 
Come, if you will, with me. ’ ’ 

Margaret rose and with hurried steps followed 
the nurse across the corridor to the death cham- 
ber. She went up to his couch and looked down 
into his face. She laid her hand upon his. Its 
iciness sent a shivering terror to her heart. It 
was death. She had never felt it before. She 
shook and fell upon her knees. 

“Oh, Blessed Virgin ! Oh, Most Holy Mother of 
God ! Have mercy. Have mercy upon us ! 
Upon — ” 

She did not finish her prayer, for she sank back 
unconsciously to the floor. 

She had fainted. The nurses lifted her gently 
and carried her back to her apartments. They 
laid her upon a couch and looked into her face. 
It was like that of the dead man, white and 
cold; but upon its marble surface there was no 
sign of tears. They knew she was not ill; that it 
was shock, nervousness. She must be watched 
until the reaction came. 

All through the long afternoon the young nurse 
sat by her side. She administered no medicine. 
She only stroked the golden hair, and held her 
hand, the one which lay so limply by her side. 
Only when the sun fell below the western horizon 
did the nurse detect that she moved. Then with- 
out a word she rose to her feet and walked to- 
wards a nearby window. For some time she stood 
and looked out upon the distant hills, which re- 
flected the day’s declining splendor. She seemed 
unconscious of the nurse’s presence. She turned 


114 


THE ONE MAN 


away and throwing herself into a chair which 
was standing near, she cried aloud: ‘‘The sun! 
It will rise again ! It will shine upon a new, a bet- 
ter day. But for me — for my life, the sun has 
gone out of it forever!’’ 

The haze of night was now rapidly spreading 
through the atmosphere and the nurse, who had 
not in all these hours once spoken, rose and 
crossed the room. Could it be possible that she 
thought she was alone? 

She went over close to her. “Mrs. Patmore,” 
she hesitated. “Can I be of any service to you?” 

Margaret looked up into the dark eyes of the 
young woman standing before her, who seemed 
not a day older than herself, and reaching forth 
her hand, she grasped that of this working girl 
and held it close to her face. 

No word passed between them, but Margaret 
knew that she understood. Knew that she re- 
ceived from her that rare sympathy which one 
woman sometimes gives another, even though the 
heart secret remains unrevealed. A sympathy — 
not unlike the mother love — which kisses away 
the tears without questioning why they flow. 


CHAPTER XIII. 

An hour later Margaret dismissed the nurse, 
summoned her maid, and took up the duties lying 
before her. 


THE ONE MAN 


115 


There were no relatives, at least she knew of 
none, to whom messages should he sent. She 
would telegraph his business agents and Fred- 
rika. Oh, that she could now see Fredrika! But 
it would not be long before she would be back in 
New York and with her. 

She remembered that less than two years ago 
her husband had purchased a lot in the cemetery 

at Los and had expressed a desire that 

should he die on the Pacific coast he wished his 
interment to be there. It was only a few miles 
distant. His wish should be carried out. 

The last details were one by one gone over with 
the undertaker, and it was long past midnight 
when her maid insisted upon her retiring. 

She obeyed her, but she could not sleep. She 
could only think of Mr. Patmore ’s divorced wife — 
the one whom she knew was living. She wondered 
if it were not her duty to notify her of his death. 
She decided to do this in the morning. 

She was his wife, too. Perhaps she had loved 
him. Perhaps she loved him even now. And thus 
this young woman, this unfortunate young widow, 
pondered on until the morning hours over the 
question of her own duty and upon the relation- 
ship of divorced persons. 

What if she should meet this woman? What 
would she think of her who had supplanted her? 

She raised up in the bed. 

‘'Think of me? What could she think of me?’’ 
she was saying to herself. “She is his real wife, 
while I—?” 

She had thrown herself back upon the pillows. 


116 


THE ONE MAN 


She was sobbing aloud. ‘‘While I? — Oh, God — 
What amir’ 

“Madame,” said the little maid who had 
arisen and had now come to her side. “Madame, 
are you ill? I heard you call. Were you dream- 
ing?” 

Margaret looked into her face but did not an- 
swer her. “Koette, go look at the clock. Tell 
me the hour.” 

“Listen Madame! It is striking now,” replied 
the maid. 

She turned upon her pillow. “Five o’clock,” 
she said. “The beginning of another day.” 


It was over. There was a brief service in the 
hotel apartments, with no friends except the 
casual acquaintance among the travelers. There 
was a quiet burial in a quaint cemetery near the 
foothills. There were flowers and prayers; but 
there was no sign of tears; no heart breaking 
moans. It was a strange ordeal for Margaret, 
and when it was all over she returned without 
even one companion to the little hotel in the vil- 
lage. Koette had been taken suddenly ill on the 
morning of the burial, and she had made the 
journey alone except for the necessary attend- 
ants to convey the body. She was resting for the 
return trip and for the flrst time she fully real- 
ized that she was alone. And what a loneliness 1 
And death! What was it anyway? She was 
shuddering. She still felt the iciness of that 
touch. 

She remained only a few hours and then 


THE ONE MAN 


117 


started on the return trip to the place where Mr. 
Patmore died. She arrived late in the evening. 
Koette was better but she insisted that the nurse 
remain with the maid for a few days. She was 
very tired and after bidding them good night she 
sought her apartments alone. 

She, too, must have rest. She would no longer 
think of anything until she slept. On the mor- 
row she would decide upon plans for the immedi- 
ate future. 

She retired at once. She tried to sleep, but it 
was in vain. Her brain was on fire with dreams 
of the future. 

New York! Ah, there was no other place! 
Home ! Even at that moment she was filled with 
a homesickness which could not fail to come on 
such a night as this. 

She pictured the fairy mountains of her child- 
hood’s home. They were still purple and blue 
with their soft magical mist. She could see the 
gray vapor rising here and there and through 
its masses the sunshine still crept with softer rays 
than any she had ever seen. And the beautiful 
river ! How silently it wound its way in and out 
between the majestic hills. And how gently 
upon its broad bosom there still fioated the white 
sailed crafts, sleepily rocking their way to and 
from the bay. Yes, she would return. She would 
spend her life there amid the ease and splen- 
dor which her wealth would bring, She 
would drift on; drift on in the social world, the 
pleasures and conquests of which would make her 
forget. She would be admired, envied, courted 


118 


THE ONE MAN 


by the crowds who ever crouch and fawn at the 
feet of wealth. No one cared for her now. And 
slie — yes she, too, would forget. In her life of 
freedom she would drift — drift — it did not mat- 
ter where. 

She looked seriously for a moment. The moon- 
light flooded her apartments like the illumination 
of a breaking day. She raised herself upon her 
elbow and held one hand upon her brow. 

‘'What thoughts! I wonder what Fredrika 
would think? I wonder what possesses me to give 
way to such wild dreams?” 

She was now sitting up in bed. She flushed 
with an ill concealed shame. Over her as never 
before came an uprising anger. Her brain was 
flooded with the sense of humiliation, the misery 
which the Von Hoffman pride had forced upon 
her. It had ruined the very best in her nature. 
But it should not ruin her soul. She would live. 
She would do the best she could. She would be 
pure and holy. She would not drift. She would 
not forget her God. 

She was now fully awake, and her thoughts re- 
verted to Mr. Patmore. Again there came to her 
the misery of her married life. The shame of en- 
during for years the caresses and embraces of an 
old man whom she did not love. She thought how 
her repulsion for him grew as he approached the 
end. Thought of her indifference even in his 
dying hours. Thought how little she at this mo- 
ment mourned his death. 

“Ah, it was terrible. And it was all for him — 
whom I did love — ^he whom I love now. To think 


THE ONE MAN 


119 


of the shame, the ignominy, the sacrifice — all for 
him. And he might have known it. Yes, he 
might have waited. But — ^it is evident that he 
did not care. That he was trifling. That what he 
thought was love was with him but a fleeting 
passion, having no significance when I was out of 
sight.” 

In her agitation she rose and walked the floor. 
Her face was livid with indignation. 

‘‘Yes, he was false,” she cried aloud. “And^ — 
I will punish him. Again he shall declare his 
love for me. He shall be made to suffer as I have 
suffered, and I will laugh at him. She shall give 
him up and I will not rescue him. He shall weep 
the bitterest tears and there shall be no comfort 
for him.” 

She fell into a nearby chair and wept as she 
had never wept before; wept burning tears of 
humiliation and revenge. 

The hot sun was well up in the heavens when 
her last sob died away. She held the dripping 
handkerchief to her eyes for another hour, and 
then she quietly rose and walked over to the 
window. What a sultry morning. Everything 
was dingy with the alkali laden dust. She would 
leave that very day if Koette were well. She 
would travel North, and then leisurely eastward 
to St. Paul. She would remain near the lakes 
until — the estate was settled, and then : 

Home. New York. 


CHAPTEE XIV. 


‘‘By Jove! Eosenbaum, what a superb figure! 
And a more beautiful face IVe not looked upon 
for many a day. Say, old boy, you have got 
royalty in this country as far as female loveli- 
ness goes. Who, if I may ask, is this charming 
Venus of the Hudson?’^ 

Frederic Eosenbaum and the recently arrived 
Duke of Eunleigh were briskly riding up the river 
for a morning ^s outing, and as was Fredrika’s 
custom, she, too, was taking her usual morning 
gallop on her brown mare, Clio. 

Eosenbaum returned Fredrika’s salutation, rid- 
ing on for some distance before answering the 
Duke’s question. 

“Eunleigh, that woman is a queen, — queen of 
the hearts of men and women for miles around. 
Her name is Fredrika Von Hoffman and the es- 
tates to which she and her brother are heirs are 
the richest in America. She lives at this season 
of the year in the old family home a few miles 
up the river. We will reach it soon.” 

“Very interesting. I trust I may have the 
pleasure of meeting this very beautiful lady. Tell 
me more about her. Is she well born, Eosen- 
baum?” 

The Duke did not observe the smile which 
twinkled in Eosenbaum ’s eye, he only heard his 
reply : 

“An American without a peer, Eunleigh. The 


THE ONE MAN 


121 


kind of a woman who would die for her country. 
One whom no living man can win unless she 
loves him.’’ 

The Duke glanced at his American friend, as if 
to say: 

/^Well, I guess she wouldn’t be so very particu- 
lar if a title went with the offer.” 

Eosenbaum knew well what he was thinking 
and whipped up his horse hoping that the Duke 
would not further question him. A moment later 
he was pressing him for more of the young wom- 
an’s history. 

‘‘Is she as intelligent as she is beautiful, 
Eosey? By Jove! I’m interested in her a little.” 

“Yes, she is very intelligent,” replied Eosen- 
baum. “She is what many call a new woman. She 
is as highly learned as any college man. And, 
furthermore, has spent several years in foreign 
study. I believe Miss Von Hoffman to be the very 
highest type of our best educated and cultured 
women.” 

The Englishman looked at his friend in aston- 
ishment. Inquiringly he said, “And how old is 
this woman? She looks barely twenty, but when 
you tell me of her attainments, she surely can not 
be less than twice as old. An expert no doubt in 
toilet secrets.” 

“Miss Von Hoffman is thirty probably, at least 
not two years older. And as regards her youth- 
ful color and appearance, our educated classes 
are not so highly learned in toilet secrets as they 
are in those of Nature. Hygienic living is to the 
new woman an open sesame to perfect health and 


122 


THE ONE MAN 


perfect health always means physical beauty. 
The roses made by bright red blood are far more 
lasting and beautiful than are those of Paris 
rouge and at the same time probably much more 
attractive to the husband or lover who presses a 
kiss thereon.’’ 

''I suppose she has her own views of politics 
and religion?” further queried the Englishman. 

‘^Most certainly,” replied Rosenbaum. ‘‘I once 
heard her say myself that her political ideas were 
based upon the Declaration of American Inde- 
pendence.” 

‘‘Rather hard then to make an English subject 
out of her, eh ? ” remarked the Duke. 

To this Rosenbaum made no reply. 

Runleigh inquisitively proceeded. 

“Very likely Miss Von Hoffman is not relig- 
ious? A free thinker, no doubt.” 

“To my mind,” replied Rosenbaum, “few 
women have more or a better religion ; and added 
thereto she has inherited from her ancestors the 
blessed spirit of religious liberty which so per- 
meates our beloved Republic.” 

They galloped along in silence for some mo- 
ments. Once more the Duke checked his horse 
into a walk. 

“Is she an Episcopalian? I believe that is your 
name for the Church of England in the States.” 

“No,” replied Rosenbaum, “I am quite sure she 
is not a church member. She is a Monist.” 

The Duke laughed aloud. It was a new word : 
and he did not understand. 

Rosenbaum further remarked: “Her mother 


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was a Eoman Catholic and her father — ^well, I do 
not know what his religious ideas were. I only 
know that he was a descendant of one of the 
founders of the Dutch Republic. He was a man 
of great worth and a gentleman.’’ 

The Duke said nothing, and Rosenbaum talked 
on: ‘‘Miss Von Hoffman’s views are quite general- 
ly known among her friends even if they are not 
well understood and I do not believe there is one 
among them who does not believe her a deeply 
religious woman.” 

“But,” replied the Duke, “she is not a Chris- 
tian, and that is a most deplorable thing in a 
woman.” 

“Why different in a woman than in a man? 
And what matters it anyway if she live the Christ 
life even though the principles come through 
other channels? I only know her as one of 
Nature’s noble women.” 

The Duke looked at his friend. “I see that you 
are one of her admirers.” 

At this moment they came in sight of the mas- 
sive gates leading into the park at Hoffman Hall. 
A moment later they could see the palatial man- 
sion in the distance above the river front. The 
Duke was charmed, he became enthusiastic. He 
had not expected such homes in America. It 
surely reminded him of estates across the sea. 

“By Jove!”, he said, “it is beautiful! And 
what a pity that a more gentle and simple 
minded woman is not mistress there. Someone 
that a fellow could take comfort with, you 
know!” 


124 


THE ONE MAN 


Rosenbaum was earnestly wishing that he 
would cease his inquisitiveness regarding Miss 
Von Hoffman, and from time to time he endeav- 
ored to call his attention to interesting points 
along the river. But it was of no use. He was 
constantly interrupting him with questions re- 
garding Fredrika. Could it be possible that the 
Duke was in quest of a wife? Was he intending 
to take advantage of his hospitality with this ob- 
ject in view? Was this why he had almost begged 
an invitation to America? He smiled at the 
thought. How glad he was that America had a 
Fredrika Von Hoffman: a woman who would not 
pawn her ideals for a dukedom: a woman who 
would not sell her soul at any price. Yes, Fred- 
rika was the one woman whom the Duke should 
meet. He would himself do all in his power to 
further the acquaintance. 

Again the Duke was interrupting him. ‘^Does 
Miss Von Hoffman appear in society? I really 
must confess to an inclination to meet this com- 
posite woman. 

Frederick Rosenbaum was too good an Ameri- 
can, too good a representative of cultured New 
York society to say one word against the ad- 
vanced educational privileges accorded his coun- 
trywomen. His own sisters were college women. 
Furthermore, he would not again discuss with the 
Duke of Runleigh the personal characteristics of 
Miss Von Hoffman. He would speak of her 
family. It would lead into broader questions. 

Replying to the Duke's question, he assured 
him that he should meet the young woman. ‘‘She 


THE ONE MAN 


125 


will/’ he said, ‘‘no doubt be a guest at a lawn 
fete, to which we shall be invited, in Newport 
next week. The family entertaining are her 
friends. The ancestors of both were among the 
first to transform the banks of the Hudson into 
an abiding place for man. They came from Hol- 
land and the vast estates to which the children of 
this generation are heirs are like many others in 
this locality, the result of thrift, hard work and 
energy. As their forebears conquered the elements, 
so these pioneers conquered the environments of 
this wilderness. And without one act of dis- 
honesty, without once wronging their fellow men, 
acquired the nucleus which has evolved the for- 
tunes owned by our neighbors in this valley and 
vicinity. More than this, these were the men, 
who, as individuals and as a class, even though 
they have not all left such vast estates, have 
transmitted what is far better for us as a nation, 
the heritage of a true Republic. 

“You spoke a few moments ago of royalty. 
Yes, we have it, but Runleigh, it is not of crowns 
or sceptres. It is one of principles, the spirit of 
which upholds the Republic. It reigns, not on the 
surface, but in the hearts of men. To my mind 
the Von Hoffmans belong to this type.” 

The Duke was now all attention. Anything re- 
ferable to the beautiful Miss Von Hoffman was of 
growing interest to him. 

“I am glad, Runleigh, that we have drifted into 
this conversation,” said Rosenbaum, after a mo- 
ment. “Englishmen, as a rule, do not understand 
Americans, and I propose before your visit is over 


126 


THE ONE MAN 


to introduce you to the class by which we are 
judged by all foreigners, and also to the true 
American who is at home or abroad the spirit of 
our Eepublic. The first we know a^ the noveau 
richesy ready imitators of aristocratic modes and 
manners to which they were not born. Their 
wealth in many instances has been of sudden ac- 
quisition — God only knows how or where — rob- 
bing the people, perhaps, plundering the govern- 
ment, maybe, anyhow, any way to get it. They 
are the money made class; the keep up appear- 
ance class, the scum, the rot, which have within 
the last half century grown like a parasite upon 
our body social. They are trying their best to 
force class distinction upon us. If they dared 
they would purchase a crown and place it upon 
one of their number and rule our land. The other 
type is our true American, by whom and through 
whom we shall eventually throw off every influ- 
ence which has weakened us as a nation and as 
a Eepublic.^’ 

^‘Then it is true that you have a wealthy class 
in America who really mingle with the common 
people and the proletarians?^’ 

‘‘Proletarian! Proletarian! Ah, my friend, 
do not use that word. We have men and women 
who toil. They are our bread winners. They 
have hearts and homes. They must become our 
future Americans. We shall uplift them. That is 
the mission of the true American.” 

“By Jove, Eosey, I never thought you were 
such a living example of the Declaration of Inde- 
pendence !” 


THE ONE MAN 


127 


‘‘Equal rights for all, sp.ecial privileges to none, 
is the spirit of this land. I am aware, however, 
that all who come here, and very many who are 
born here do not come up to the American ideal. 
We also know that it cannot be accomplished for 
years, perhaps, but the right spirit is yet alive in 
the hearts of the people, and it will in the near 
future so permeate the masses that we shall yet 
see a living democracy so truly American, so 
truly ideal as to make the whole world envy a 
Kepublic.’’ 

“Ah, but England never taught you this. Ox- 
ford never trained you thus. Germany did not 
impart such ideas to your ancestors,’^ interrupted 
the Duke. “And I doubt if your dreams are ever 
fulfilled. The tendency of the world seems rather 
inclined towards class distinction, and monarchial 
forms of government.’’ 

“No,” replied Eosenbaum. “It is not England, 
neither is it Germany who taught us thus. Noth- 
ing like it is known in either of these countries, 
the principles came to us — ^to America — ^from a 
race now dead — in name. From a race, the spirit 
of which has survived the individuals. And were 
it not for this one principle, ‘Equality! Equal 
rights for all,’ our Republic would die — would 
have long ago succumbed.” 

“I must again confess to surprise. I really 
thought that Americans were outliving a Repub- 
lic,” said the Duke. 

“As I have said, Runleigh, you have only known 
the spurious American. He frequents the Old 
World to get his manners. He has been known to 


128 


THE ONE MAN 


expatriate himself and family. To us he is but the 
parasite. Even you as a nation do not want him. 
You only laugh at him.’’ 

Eosenbaum did not fail to see that the man be- 
side him smiled. ‘‘And Eunleigh,” went on the 
young man, “this class has so spread its dastard- 
ly influence here that we have, added to the bad 
taste of an almost universal ultra extravagance — 
ruinous alike to the morals and happiness of rich 
and poor — another pernicious condition. I refer 
to the money factor in marriage. Our young 
women are selling themselves daily for gold, and 
social position. Our young men are sacrificing the 
very highest ideals of human love for family 
pride and fear of society’s ostracism.” 

The Duke leaned forward to adjust the bridle 
ring. 

“And this, my friend,” continued Eosenbaum, 
“is one of the fundamental causes of so much do- 
mestic unhappiness. It is the chief element in di- 
vorce, that evil which as you know has assumed 
with us the proportions of a national disgrace. 

The Duke looked up. He wondered why his 
friend had become so bitter. 

“Yes, a national disgrace, Eunleigh,” he re- 
iterated, “but thank God there is a movement 
rapidly spreading among right thinking peo- 
ple — right thinking and independent young 
Americans to overthrow the hateful thing. It is 
this: We propose to make the old fashioned love 
match popular. Several of my friends have set 
striking examples of this of late and I too have 
made a decision that way. Our families may 


THE ONE MAN 


129 


weep, society may frown, but in the end both will 
be benefited.’^ 

‘‘Well, by Jove, Eosenbaum,’’ said the Duke as 
the young man paused, “if your ideas prevail, 
America will in another century become the rep- 
resentative of the brotherhood of man/’ 

Eosenbaum well knew that his friend did not 
coincide with such ideas. He himself was edu- 
cated at Oxford and none better than he knew 
that there were few if any Englishmen, even to 
the lowliest subject, who did not possess an in- 
born reverence for the next man above him and a 
corresponding contempt for the other one, just 
down the line. 

But he talked on. 

“Miss Von Hoffman has experienced herself an 
unfortunate affair in her own family and her 
opinions are like my own in the contempt for the 
false standards of society.” He went on to relate 
the facts in the case. 

They rode on in silence for some time, and then 
the Duke inquired if Miss Von Hoffman’s brother 
lived in New York. 

“No,” replied Eosenbaum, “he is in the West, 
a physician in a small town in Minnesota.” 

“But as I was about to say,” continued Eosen- 
baum, “the incidents connected with the case was 
the first incentive to a very earnest discussion in 
our club. We reviewed from every point of view 
our modern social tendencies, and then and there 
declared against the money infiuence in marriage. 
We decided it to be the rankest of snobbery for 
any man or woman to bow to a social prerogative 


130 


THE ONE MAN 


which demands the sanction of a particular set or 
even one’s own family regarding the choice of a 
life companion, and in ill accord with our na- 
tional ideals. ’ ’ 

The Duke seemed not inclined to talk, and 
Eosenbaum went on. 

‘‘Only in cases where rich old men marry poor 
girls do you ever expect to hear the condoning 
word. Then you will hear the people say: ‘How 
lovely that she is going to have such a fine home’, 
or, ‘Is it not charming to be an old man’s darling?’ 
All that is ever thought of is the dollar; it only 
counts in these days. Now to me there never was 
a more damnable outrage than that of an old man 
marrying a young girl. In the eyes of any man or 
woman of sense such a wife becomes an object of 
pity sooner or later ; a misguided victim of a social 
state which has either educated her or forced her 
to barter her soul, her self respect, her life’s hap- 
piness, her womanhood for a few diamonds, an 
elaborate wardrobe, a few more courses at din- 
ner, a prominent place in society and plenty of 
leisure in which she will have time to review her 
own misery or to dream of love denied to her for- 
ever.” 

“You certainly picture an unenviable situation, 
Rosenbaum,” said the Duke in the silence which 
followed. 

“Yes, and one which the young men of any 
country can abolish if they will.” 

“And how is that?” inquired the Englishman, 
turning his face towards his friend. 

“By marrying these young women, ourselves,” 


THE ONE MAN 


131 


replied Rosenbaum. ‘‘The truth of the matter is 
this : That this devilish social influence has so en- 
ervated the- brains of our young men that they 
have not dared to strike society the blow it 
needs.’’ 

The Duke again looked up inquiringly. 

“It is this, my friend. By refusing to marry 
women we do not love. By absolutely ignoring 
‘sets, families,’ everything except our own inclin- 
ations, and one’s own heart.” 

“Well, well,” said the Duke. “You are ter- 
ribly in earnest, Rosenbaum, and in America you 
may be able to carry this out. But in England it 
would be a hard problem for us — ^that is for one 
of the better class to marry beneath their social 
level.” 

His words aroused the American. He was a 
gentleman but he could not refrain from saying: 
“Yes, Runleigh, old fellow, I understand. An 
Englishman may not marry outside his social 
plane; but you, as well as I, know that his love 
reaches all sorts of levels.” 

The Duke did not reply. He only smiled. 

“And,” continued Rosenbaum, “these double 
lives are hell. Crime, misery, death, accompany 
such perfldy throughout the world. ’ ’ 

Again the Duke smiled. Then with words which 
were more than half sarcasm he said : 

“Rosenbaum, if you would have such social re- 
forms, you will be obliged to incorporate the 
ethics of marriage in your educational system.” 

“Yes. Why not?”, replied Rosenbaum. “Why 


132 


THE ONE MAN 


not educate men and women for marriage as you 
would for any other position in life ? ’ ’ 

He was riding to the right and an instant later 
he had turned his mare into a narrow wooded path 
leading towards the river. The Duke followed 
closely. Suddenly they came into the open, and 
leaping from his saddle, Rosenbaum led the way 
close to the edge of the overhanging precipice. 

‘‘Look!’’ he exclaimed as the Duke came close 
to him. “It is the Rhine of America.” 

The Duke had already dismounted and was en- 
thusiastic over the picturesqueness of the mighty 
stream moving along in silent majesty between 
the stately rocks, until it seemed lost in the blue 
haze of the distant landscape. 

For some moments both were silent, then 
Rosenbaum called his attention to the woodlands, 
and the mountains, and spoke of certain legends 
quaint and old. 

Near them, hurrying down the rocks, a noisy 
mountain stream was finding its way to the rest- 
ful waters underneath the cliff. 

Overhead the idle crows were cawing, and a 
grey squirrel leaped across the nearby chasm, 
saucily peering at them through a massive net- 
work of tangled, wild grape vines. 

They had forgotten the ambitions and perplexi- 
ties of life. They talked of rod and gun, of days 
a-field, and streams of other lands. And not 
until the sun had reached the zenith did they re- 
member that breakfast awaited them at the 
Country Club. 


CHAPTER XV. 


Half way across the continent upon this same 
June morning, the almost tropical looking foliage 
of Minnesota was never more beautifully green 
or more silently hanging upon the bough or 
branch of tree and shrub. 

The very atmosphere seemed motionless. Even 
the Father of Waters appeared to stand still as it 
touched the thickly wooded over-hanging banks. 

The pine logs from the North had long since 
floated down the river and were already in the 
great booms below, or being rapidly sawed into 
lumber at the mills in Minneapolis. 

The water which had so recently cleared itself 
from this vast commercial debris, and which had 
so brilliantly sparkled under the morning sun was 
now, not only still, but had taken on a frightful 
tint of dark and sickening green. 

The heat had become oppressive. The sun no 
longer shone. The sky was lifeless. The west- 
ern horizon was growing rapidly dark, and the 
moisture coming up from the overheated earth 
made existence almost unbearable. 

The silence was appalling. Men had ceased 
work ; they were talking together and looking 
into the sky. Even the birds and beasts were 
quiet; they, too, were huddled here and there in 
groups, as if the night had come. All nature was 
apparently awaiting the outcome of the hour. 


134 


THE ONE MAN 


Suddenly there was a muffled breeze. It came 
from out the North. Looking towards the 
Southwest a slight commotion seemed to part the 
green and angry clouds which were now hanging 
strangely low. In another instant the air was 
chilled and a cone-shaped fragment came across 
the sky, as if fleeing from the blackened masses 
which had so long imprisoned it. Lower and 
swifter it sped along. Men said how strange is 
this. But they said no more, for a moment later 
there was a mighty roar as if the very heavens 
had sent artillery down the line. 

And that was all. Men heard no more, but when 
they looked again the earth was swept. Their 
homes, their forest trees, their crops, yes, every- 
thing was scattered in a vast debris, ^d in this 
mass were human souls, hurled like the veriest 
particles either to death or into helpless agony. 


‘‘Mama. Oh, Mama, where am I? Oh, Mama, 
what has happened to me, MamaT’ 

Thus crying out in fright a little girl raised her 
head from the cold wet ground and looked around. 
She saw no living thing. She was lying in the 
midst of upturned roots, and in the sand were 
leaves and flowers everywhere. She hugged a 
mutilated doll close to her heart. Evidently she 
had clung to it with more than human strength as 
together they had been flung by the storm out 
upon this fleld a mile from the ill-fated town. 

‘ ‘ Oh, J os-phine. Where is Mama ? Call her Jos- 


THE ONE MAN 


135 


phine. Tell her — Jos-phine — ” She became faint 
and weak. She laid her head against the wet sand 
and went to sleep. 

The sun came forth. A fresh, delightful atmos- 
phere penetrated everywhere, as if to drive away 
the pain — the fearful memories of the preceding 
hour. 

‘‘A cyclone at . The town is swept. Hun- 

dreds dead and dying. Send relief at once.’’ 

The message sped along by courier to the near- 
est station, and as is characteristic of Western 
sympathy, within an hour a special train was on 
its way with help. Surgeons worked with life 
and limb and nurses aided in their way by sooth- 
ing broken hearts as well as dreadful pain. A 
warehouse which had withstood the storm was 
transformed into a temporary hospital, and just 
across the street an old frame church which also 
stood unharmed amid the wreckage of the strong 
brick and stone buildings surrounding it was used 
for a hotel to which the people came for supplies 
which came in from far and near. 

The scene was too appaling to relate ; in fact 
there are no words with which one can describe a 
storm swept area. But within sixty hours every 
sufferer was cared for, the dead were buried, the 
injured relieved, and with a Spartan like courage, 
the survivors were taking heart again. 

''What strange freaks tornadoes play,” said 
one of the surgeons to a newspaper reporter, 
while they were awaiting a train to convey them 
back to St. Paul. "Do you see that upturned 
freight car out yonder-? ’ ’ 


136 


THE ONE MAN 


replied the young man addressed. ‘‘Let 
us go out and look it over. It will be an hour or 
longer before the Coast Limited is in; and then 
the passengers will have to be transferred over 
this wreckage.^’ 

'‘All right/' said the surgeon, and together the 
two men walked along through the tall grass, and 
out across the plain of drifted sand covered with 
upturned trees. As they neared the car the re- 
porter suddenly stopped. 

"Doctor, what is that? I thought it was a hu- 
man voice." 

The doctor listened. Yes, it surely was a cry. 

"My God, it is a child's voice!" said the doc- 
tor, excitedly. "Is it possible that we have over- 
looked in this calamity a helpless child? Why it 
must be sixty hours since the cyclone." 

The men walked hurriedly, but carefully in the 
direction from whence the sound came. Every now 
and then they listened, but they did not hear the 
voice again. 

"Perhaps it was the last cry. Oh, Jones, this 
is terrible 1 A child suffering— dying in this deso- 
late place — alone!" And the surgeon's eyes were 
moist with tears which were unusued to flow. 

Suddenly the reporter cried out. "Ah, there 
it is! There it is, doctor! I see a pink garment! 
Hasten ! It is out near that pile of boards !" 

Together they groped on through the dense 
hazel brush and out upon the edge of the sandy 
plateau, which rose into a slight eminence before 
sloping downward towards a small lake. They 
rushed around the lumber pile which had been 


THE ONE MAN 


137 


blown from the yards in town and which instead 
of being scattered was as intact as if it had been 
lifted from the ground and carefully placed where 
it was now resting. 

‘‘A child! Yes, a little girl!” said the doctor, 
as he knelt beside a slight form lying prostrate in 
the sand. Her clothes were wet ; and the summer 
sun was streaming into her face. She was not 
dead; not even dying, but suffering from shock, 
exposure, and exhaustion. 

The surgeon examined her to ascertain the ex- 
tent of her injuries. 

‘‘A fractured leg! How merciful that the 
shock and fright has kept her from suffering,” he 
said, looking up into the reporter’s face. 

It was now nearly time for the Limited. What 
would they do with her. There was nothing left 
for them to do except to take her with them to St. 
Paul. This they would do. 

The reporter had lifted the wet bedraggled doll 
from underneath the child’s arm. Together they 
glanced at it a moment. A smile followed by a 
look of sadness came over the doctor’s face. ‘‘Put 
it in my bag, Jones. I’ll have my sister make it a 
new dress if the child lives.” 

The reporter shook the dirt from its clothing, 
took a silk handkerchief from his pocket and care- 
fully wrapping the doll therein placed it in the 
doctor’s satchel. A sigh fell from his lips. The 
two men exchanged a look of pity. Together they 
carried the exhausted, injured, homeless, perhaps 
motherless child, back to the place of taking the 
train. 


138 


THE ONE MAN 


As they neared the track, the doctor expressed a 
hope that some woman would be kind enough to 
assist them in caring for her personally until they 
reached the city. They knew the train would be 
crowded, and it was not an easy task for the two 
men to look after her. 

The train was now screaming in the distance. A 
few moments later it had stopped and fully two 
hundred passengers had alighted for transferrence 
to the train which was to take them into the 
“Twin Cities.’’ 

The travelers were anxious, for they had al- 
ready learned of the dreadful calamity, and as 
they saw the two men approach with the helpless 
child, their hearts beat with sympathy, for they 
knew she was one of the unfortunate victims. 

Among the many who gathered around them was 
a young and beautiful woman. Her golden hair 
and fair face were in striking contrast with the 
heavy black crape trimmed gown and the long 
veil which hung in folds back from a small white 
ruched bonnet. 

It was none other than Margaret Patmore. She 
was en route to St. Paul. 

“Poor little one!”, she cried, as she pushed her 
way through the crowd to offer her aid in mak- 
ing the child comfortable until they could 
start. They accepted her kindness, and taking 
from her arm a heavy silk traveling coat, she 
wrapped it tenderly around the child. Then seat- 
ing herself upon the ground she made from the 
folds of her gown a soft improvised pillow, upon 
which the surgeon placed the little one’s head. 


THE ONE MAN 


139 


To her inquiries the gentlemen told her of find- 
ing the child only a short time before and that 
they were going to take her to a St. Paul hospi- 
tal for care and treatment. 

She rested one white jeweled hand upon the 
sunburned face of the little girl and asked the 
doctor if she might give her a bit of wine. Under 
the surgeon ^s directions the little Japanese maid, 
who seemed to be the woman’s only traveling 
companion, prepared a little Madeira in water, 
which she forced between the lips of the appar- 
ently unconscious child. 

She was stroking the red brown hair of the lit- 
tle girl when the train from the Twin Cities 
backed down the track. The heavy rumbling, half 
roused the child. She opened her eyes and looked 
around. Then she gave a sudden start and stared 
a moment into the face of the woman looking 
down into her face. 

At that moment the surgeon came and carried 
the little girl into the car. He placed her in a 
seat in front of him, Margaret and her maid tak- 
ing a seat not far away. 

As they neared St. Paul, Margaret went over to 
where they were sitting and asked if she might 
not contribute something towards her care in the 
hospital. 

The surgeon acknowledged the offer with cour- 
teous appreciation. As she turned to go away she 
handed him a black bordered card. shall re- 
main at the K Hotel for some days. I hope 

when the child is convalescent that I may see 
her.” 


140 


THE ONE MAN 


He turned the card towards the light, read the 
name and handed it to the reporter. 

'‘Jones,” he said, "that is the young woman 
old Patmore married back in York state. Bought 
her, no doubt, for a cool million or more. He died, 
you remember, out on the coast this spring. He’s 
been mighty careful to keep her out of the North- 
west. Very likely she is here now to probate the 
old fellow ’s estate. ’ ’ 

"They never miss that opportunity, do they, 
doctor?” said the reporter slyly. 

The surgeon nodded and smiled. 

"She’s a mighty fine looking young woman,” 
said the reporter. "Has a big heart, too, but I’ll 
bet that Jud Patmore never found it.” 

The conversation was at an end. The train had 
reached the station and the gentlemen carried 
their charge to a carriage which awaited them. 
Within a few moments they were at the hospital, 
and within two hours the little girl was in a com- 
fortable room, the fracture set, and a special 
nurse in attendance. 

Twenty-four hours later she had sufficiently re- 
vived to give her mother’s name, and at the hospi- 
tal it was ascertained that while she had sur- 
vived the storm, she was too seriously injured to 
visit her child for some days. 

A fortnight later the surgeon sent a messenger 
to the hotel notifying Margaret that she could 
visit the little girl at any time. The next day 
found her at the hospital and as she was about en- 
tering Nellie’s room the nurse was handed a tele- 
gram. It announced the severe illness of a sister. 


THE ONE MAN 


141 


She must go if possible. She would get some one 
to take her place. 

‘‘If the surgeon will grant permission, I will 
stay,’' said Margaret. “Tell him please, that it is 
Nellie’s friend.” 

“Oh, I am so glad!” said the nurse as she came 
rushing in from the office. “There is really noth- 
ing to do except to entertain her and give her 
nourishment at two and six.” 

The child was sleeping when the nurse went 
away, and when she awakened Margaret was sit- 
ting alone by her bed. She opened her eyes and 
after looking steadily into her face for a moment 
she began to cry for her own nurse. After much 
explanation she succeeded in pacifying her, al- 
though it was evident that she was quite piqued 
at the departure of “her nurse.” 

“She can go away forever pretty soon, she 
can,” said Nellie, after some coaxing to be lenient 
to her nurse. “My mama is coming here to-mor- 
row — perhaps to-day — to-night, maybe.” 

For a few moments, she was silent, and then 
looking up into Magaret’s face, she said: “Say, 
lady, you never saw my mama, did you?” 

Margaret told her she had never had that 
pleasure. 

“Well, she’s the very best mama in all this 
world, she is. And she’s a nurse too. She goes 
away and stays two and three weeks lots of 
times ; and then I stay with grandma and grandpa 
and my Uncle Fred, all alone. When she’s not too 
far away she sneaks home to see us sometimes. 
Nurses, you know, go out airin’. That’s the time 


142 


THE ONE MAN 


she comes. And, oh, I am so glad to see her, lady. 
I jes wish she never was a nurse at all, so she’d 
stay home all the time.” 

For a moment she fixed her eyes upon the wall. 

‘'Say, lady, I jes wonder why she ain’t here 
now. I don’t see why she didn’t come here with 
me. Prob’ly though, she’s out on some case. I 
don’t see why I’m here in this place, either. This 
doctor here ain’t my doctor, lady. Prob’ly when 
my leg got broke my doctor and mama was off 
on some case an’ I had to ’pend on somebody 
else. I’d jes like to know how it happened and 
how long I’ve been here anyway. My mama must 
have a long case this time. But I can tell you 
she’ll have a lot of money then. She said she’d 
get me a new dress and some new shoes next case 
she had.” And thus for a half hour she went on 
in her confidential talkativeness. 

Margaret saw that the child had no memory of 
the terrible calamity in which she had received 
her injury. She would not speak of it ; and turn- 
ing, she asked her if she would not like to have 
her tell a story. 

Nellie did not reply, but reached her hand out 
and touched the white solitaire in her engagement 
ring. Margaret lifted her hand so that she could 
see it better and then removed it from her own 
and placed it upon the slender finger of the child. 

“My mama had one like this, one time,” she 
said, “only it was smaller ’n this one. One day 
she said she’d give it to me sometime and then 
a long time after that she said she had to sell it to 
buy some coal. My! lady, how hard she cried 


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that day. I guess she didn’t want to sell it, but 
she didn’t have many cases that winter.” 

Again she turned her face towards the wall and 
held tightly on Margaret’s hand. Then turning 
and placing the ring again upon the hand sup- 
porting hers she said: ''Ouch, my leg hurts 
awfully.” 

"Have you any dollies?” Margaret quickly 
asked her to divert her mind from the thought of 
pain. 

yes,” she replied. "I have three beau-ti-ful 

ones. ’ ’ 

"You must tell me their names and how they 
look,” said Margaret. 

She thought for a moment. It seemed an ef- 
fort for her to remember. 

"Well,” she said finally, "there’s Susan; she’s 
a very little thing, what my Aunt Hattie give 
me. Susan is black — regular coon-child. Uncle 
Fred says. But she’s jes as’ sweet as any doll in 
this world, jes same. And she’s got the most 
beau-ti-ful dresses you ever saw. One is red silk, 
and my mama made it out of Uncle Fred’s old 
cap — the silk what’s on the inside.” 

She thought again for a moment. 

"Then there’s Tom. He’s a boy doll, lady. 
Jane she give him to me. Say, you never seen 
Jane, have you?” 

"No, dear,” replied Margaret. "You must tell 
me about her.” 

"Well, Jane is a beau-ti-ful girl. An her father 
has a store where my mama buys my dresses, only 
when she makes me new ones out of hers and 


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grandma’s. My mama buys everything at Jane’s 
father’s store, ’cept my shoes. She buys them 
down to Minap-lis. SKe says Minap-lis shoes wear 
twice ’s long, and you know, lady, she never ’fords 
mor’n two pair a year for me, and sometimes they 
have great big holes what have to be mended, in ‘ 
them. ’ ’ 

^‘Well, dearie,” interrupted Margaret, there 
is another doll which you have not told me about.” 
Saying this she turned her face away from Nellie. 
She was thinking of the ruthless extravagance, of 
the unnecessary expenditure in which she had her- 
self indulged in the last few years, and here be- 
fore her was a child whose mother could only af- 
ford her child two pairs of shoes each year. A 
child whose mother had been obliged to sell her 
engagement ring to keep from freezing. 

^‘Poor little one!” she was saying to herself. 
‘^Poor mother!” And she felt herself crowding 
back the tears which would come in spite of her 
efforts to suppress them. 

‘‘Yes. She’s Josephine. She’s my best doll.” 

“Josephine,” exclaimed Margaret, “Ah, what a 
beautiful name ! She was named no doubt for a 
very lovely woman who lived many years ago.” 

Nellie looked at her a moment in blank astonish- 
ment ; and in a voice which spoke of much disgust 
she said: “Why, no, she ain’t either. She ain’t 
named after any woman at all. She’s named after 
a horse! My doctor’s horse, Jos-phine! The 
most beau-ti-ful horse in all this world ! My doc- 
tor lets me ride after her sometimes. When I get 


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well you can come and see me and my doctor and 
then you can see Jos-phine, too.’’ 

Margaret then told her how delighted she would 
be to see all the good people she had told her 
about and said that she would be much pleased to 
make the acquaintance of such a beautiful horse. 
^'Perhaps I shall want to buy Josephine. Would 
your doctor sell Josephine to me, Nellie?” 

'^No sir ee! You couldn’t buy that horse. I 
heard him say one day to my Uncle Fred that he 
wouldn’t sell her for five thousand dollars!” 

‘'My, she must be a very fine horse! Five thou- 
sand dollars is a large sum for a horse, Nellie,” 
said Margaret. 

“I guess,” replied Nellie, “that Jos-phine — ^the 
horse — ain’t so rich in money as she is in some- 
thing else, lady, for one day afterwards, I heard 
my doctor tell Uncle Fred that she wassent 
worth ten dollars.” 

Margaret looked down into the child’s face. 
“Say, lady, do you know what that horse is rich 
in ? Can you guess, lady, what it is ? The doctor 
told me one day — ‘It is love, Nellie,’ he said, ‘and 
it can’t be exchanged for gold.’ ” 

For some moments neither spoke; then in her 
childish way Nellie began talking again. 

“Say, you will come, won’t you, lady? And 
then you can see grandma and grandpa and 
Jane — ” 

“Ah, Jane — you have forgotten to tell me about 
Jane,” said Margaret in reply. 

“Well, Jane’s mother is a very stylish woman — 
and Jane’s her child,” replied Nellie. 


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Margaret suppressed a smile, and Nellie went on 
to tell her more about Jane. She spoke in a half 
whispered voice. 

''Say, lady, if you will never tell 111 tell you 
something — I don 1 love J ane 's mother as I do J ane 
though. She ain't very good to me sometimes. 
She don't want Jane to play with me — and one 
time she called me a little rag muffin and told me 
to go home, she did. It almost made me cry. I 
told my mama and she cried, too." 

"But I can tell you something else if you won't 
never tell," she said after a moment of apparent 
serious thinking. 

Margaret assured her that all she said would be 
perfectly confidential. Then she slowly reached 
out her hand and drew Margaret's face down 
close to her own and said : 

"Jane's father, though, let's us play back of his 
store. And one day Jane heard him scold her 
mother because she was so particular 'bout who 
Jane played with. He give us lots and lots of 
candy the last time I was there and then he jes 
patted me the same as he did Jane and called me 
his little girl, too. My, but he is a beau-ti-ful man 
— not much like Jane's mother, lady." 

She ceased talking for some time and then 
looked up into Margaret's face. ''Say, lady," she 
said, "I jes wonder if you could tell me some- 
thing ? ' ' 

"Perhaps I can, dear," replied Margaret, ten- 
derly. 

"Do you know, lady, where fathers are when 
they are not dead?" 


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‘‘Why do you ask me such a strange question, 
Nellie ? I can better tell you something about the 
dollies. Will you not let me tell you about the 
dolls I had when I was a little girl like you?” 

In vain she tried to direct NeUie^s thoughts into 
other channels, but it was impossible. She would 
be obliged to listen. But nothing she might say 
would be revealed. The child’s secrets would be 
safe with her forever. 

Nellie had reached for her hand. She was say- 
ing this : ‘ ‘ Rufie Hazen told me one day that I had 
a father that wassent dead and gone to heaven 
like other men ; but that he had gone far and far 
away, so far away that he never would come back 
to me and mama any more. An’, lady, I jes won- 
der and wonder where he went to — so far and far 
away. But, lady, do you know I sometimes think 
he will come back sometime. My mama don’t 
know it, but every night after I say my reg’lar 
prayer, I ask God to send him back to my mama 
and me. And, then, lady, Jane’s mama maybe 
would let me come to her house, for he’d buy me a 
new dress every day. And I would love him so ! Oh, 
dear, I wish you would see, lady, if you can find 
him sometime for me. My mama won’t look for 
him for me. I asked her once to write to him to 
come and she cried and cried so hard that I never 
asked her again. But I must get somebody to help 
me find him. Don’t you think, lady^ you could 
help — me find — ^him?” 

She pressed her head into the pillow and wept. 
Wept for a love she had never known. Wept until 
Margaret pressed her hand across her brow and 


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tenderly soothed her back into a condition so she 
could talk to her. 

Nellie/^ she said, after she had calmed the 
child. ‘'Nellie, we will try to find your father. 
Weep no more my little one. God is good. His 
mercy never fails.’’ 

Ever transient is childish grief. A moment later 
Nellie was looking into Margaret’s face exclaim- 
ing: 

“Lady, what makes you wear a black dress? I 
think you would look beau-ti-ful in blue. Not a 
striped blue one like my mama wears but a real 
blue dress — blue like the sky — and — ” 

‘ ‘ And — what, Nellie ? ’ ’ inquired Margaret, notic- 
ing her hesitancy. 

“Blue — jes — like — your — eyes, lady,” she said, 
looking up sweetly and lovingly into her eyes. 

Margaret pressed a kiss upon her brow. She 
rose and turned away toward the window saying : 
“Perhaps . . I will, sometime . . Nellie,” she said 
with faltering voice. 

She looked out over the smoke begrimmed 
buildings of the Northwestern capitol city; 
looked far beyond into the depths of the clear 
June sky. The impulse to again win Herbert Von 
Hoffman’s love was aroused within her. He, too, 
had once said she was beautiful in blue — a blue — 
like — ^her eyes! . . . She felt her heart throb 
against her breast. She was for the moment 
struggling with the impulse of a woman’s love, a 
woman’s pride, a woman’s sense of honor! 

Her brained cleared. She turned again towards 
the child. 


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‘'Then you think blue would be becoming to 
me, dear?^’ she said as she took a seat beside her. 

“Oh, my ! You would look jes too sweet for any- 
thing, in blue,’’ replied Nellie suavely. “And — 
you must wear it when you come; — and then 
maybe my doctor will let you take a ride with 
Jos-phine!” 

Margaret smiled and clasped Nellie’s hand 
within her own. She thought: How could a 
father leave so sweet a child ! 

“Yes, I must know all the good people who 
love you, dear!” And then she bent over and 
kissed the little half orphan who had so entwined 
herself in her own latent mother-heart. 

Yes, Margaret would see them all. But when 
that time came, instead of wearing blue, the color 
of the gown in which she was dressed that mo- 
ment would take on a darker and more dreadful 
tint. Into her life would come the blackness of a 
despair through which for years no light would 
ever shine. 

“Say, lady,” said Nellie, after some moments of 
silence, “I’m hungry. I am hungry this very min- 
ute. And if you are my special nurse and love me 
jes a little, little bit, you will get me something 
very — very — good — to eat. I want a g-r-e-a-t big 
slice of bread and butter with lots and lots of sugar 
on it. My mama don’t always give me enough sugar 
’cause she says sugar costs money ; but my grand- 
pa, he does sometimes. But mama says that I must 
not eat so much of grandpa’s sugar; for poor 
grandpa works so hard and is so old and can’t work 
much more to buy sugar for me or anyone else. 


150 


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He buys lots of candy for me, sometimes, lady, 
though, and mama don’t know about that. Grand- 
ma, she told Uncle Fred and grandpa one day that 
I’d get sick eating so much sweet stuff, and that 
she needed the money to buy her some shoes. But 
grandpa, he jes said to her, ‘Poor little Nellie, the 
child shall have a stick of candy once in a while 
as long as I have a cent.’ Then they all kept still 
and didn’t say any more about it; only grandma, 
she wiped the tears out of her eyes. Don’t you 
think they feel bad because my papa don’t come 
home and buy me candy, lady? — ” 

She half raised herself upon the pillows. 

“Won’t you hurry jes a little, lady?” she said, 
looking anxiously up into Margaret’s face. “That 
other nurse says sugar ain’t good for children, and 
more than that, lady, she says every child in the 
whole world ought to go to bed hungry. She says 
it makes ’em grow better. But she can’t tell me 
that; and she wouldn’t think that either if she 
knew Fritz Zimmerman. Fritz is jes as fat as he 
can be and all he eats is bread and butter and 
sugar and coffee and molasses — ’tween meals too 
— every time he gets hungry. Every day when 
grandma lets me go over to Fritz’s house, I get all 
the bread and sugar I want — and coffee, too, with 
three spoonfuls of sugar in every cup. Fritz’s 
mother — she is a German woman, lady, and a 
thousand times when I have been real hungry I 
wish I had been born a German child.” 

She paused a moment and again hurried Mar- 
garet for the lunch. 

‘ ‘ Say, now, lady, you go quick or my mama, she 


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will come and then 1^11 have to eat jes bread and 
milk. Oh, dear! dear! I am so hungry for sugar. 
Won’t you hurry, hurry please? The first place I 
go when I get home will be over to see Fritz.” 

A tap came on the door. Margaret rose from 
her chair and opened it. In another moment a 
frail woman, accompanied by one of the hospital 
maids rushed in and threw herself upon her knees 
at Nellie’s bedside. She kissed the child over and 
over again, crying ^‘Oh, my precious Nellie! God 
is good. He has not forotten us!” And then she 
bowed her head upon the bed and wept as she 
silently offered her prayer of thanksgiving. 

Margaret walked over to the window. She 
looked out into the fast approaching twilight. 
She bent her head upon her hands. She, too, was 
weeping and praying. 

Finally the mother rose from her knees. She 
had turned as if to address Margaret when the 
regular nurse came in. 

‘^Oh, nurse !” cried Nellie, when she saw her en- 
ter the room. ‘^My mama is here now and she’s 
going to be my nurse ! ’ ’ 

A moment later she was looking in the direction 
where Margaret was standing. ^‘And she’s my 
special one.” 

In answer to her call of ‘4ady,” Margaret came 
near her side. She reached out her hands as Mar- 
garet bent down over her. ‘‘Say, lady,” she 
whispered, “you know what I told you. You can 
bring it and lay it right under my pillow when 
they are all asleep. I will eat it just as fast as I 


152 


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can. And won you please, lady, when you come 
out and see my own dear doctor, tell him, please, 
that little girls, specially, must have coookies and 
sugar and coffee with lots of sugar in it every 
dayT’ 

Margaret patted her cheek and gently smoothed 
back the rumpled hair.* Again she drew her close 
down to her face. ‘‘And, lady,’’ the words were 
spoken in a whisper of great secrecy, “Don’t for- 
get to wear the blue dress. ’ ’ 

Margaret kissed the frail hand which so tightly 
clasped her own. The child accepted it as a reply, 
and Margaret turned to the mother expressing 
words of congratulation oh their fortunate es- 
cape. Then she left the room. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

A week had passed since “The Lady,” as 
Nellie called her, had been to the hospital. 
Every day she received the most beautiful 
flowers and other gifts which the mother and 
nurse knew came from no one else. They won- 
dered her absence, and when the doctor came 
they inquired if she was ill. The nurse also 
asked if he would give them her name. 

“Certainly, I believe I have her card,” he 
replied: “Here it is. She will see Nellie again. 
She is not one to forget. I think she has been 


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153 


detained on business which has taken her out 
of the city/^ 

He turned to the mother and assured her of 
Nellie’s recovery, and paused long enough to 
tell her of the beautiful woman whose gener- 
osity and interest had been so marked in Nellie’s 
case. 

The nurse had forgotten something and ran 
out in the hall to call him, but he did not hear 
her, and she returned to the room, and laying 
the card down on the table she told Nellie’s 
mother that she would go and find him. 

She had scarcely left the room when the 
woman picked up the card. She, too, would 
read the name. It was black bordered and deli- 
cately engraved, and a moment later she re- 
peated the name aloud: 

‘'Mrs. Margaret Patmore.” 

For a moment the room> grew dark. Her 
heart almost ceased its beats, and then it 
thumped violently against her breast. Ah, no, 
she would not die. 

“And this is she? The woman for whom I 
was deserted? The one for whom my child 
was thrown out upon a heartless world? O 
God, is it possible that I have been brought to 
this ? ’ ’ 

She rose to her feet but she could not stand. 
She sank back into her chair. “His money!” 
Her voice was in a scornful whisper. “His 
money paying for Nellie’s care? Never!” 

The thought aroused her. Again she rose 
and this time she walked rapidly across the 


154 


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room to Nellie’s bed. She pressed one hand 
against her face and looked down at her frail 
suffering child. She did not speak, and could 
not weep. When the nurse returned, her face, 
which had been as pale as death, was flushed 
with indignation which arose from the memory 
of the days in which she had felt the cruel neg- 
lect, the disdainful treatment, the agony of 
that moment when the flnal words were spoken, 
words which told her that she was to be di- 
vorced, cast off much as a garment which he 
cared no longer to wear. 

J ealousy ! The impulse filled her heart, for 
she had once loved Judson Patmore. And sud- 
denly she felt for the moment a murderous 
hatred for the woman whose card she still 
clinched in her hand. She thought she would 
kill her. Her agitation was uncontrolable. 
She made a plea for fresher air, and hastily 
stepped out of the room. She walked up and 
down the corridor for an hour. She reviewed 
his dreadful past. She grasped as never before 
his real character with all his sins. She became 
calm under the remembrance of his wrongs to 
others. She reasoned with her own revengeful 
thoughts as only women can; and came to the 
rational conclusion at last. 

Margaret Patmore was not to blame. He did 
not leave her for this woman. He did not even 
know her then. His marriage to her was but 
an incident in his unnatural and criminal ca- 
reer; a degenerate impulse perhaps in a senile 
man whose nature was long before polluted to 


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155 


the uttermost with immorality. And then she 
said half aloud: ‘‘Ah, no, I will not harm her — 
I pity her.^’ 

She pressed her hand against her face, and a 
moment later she had made the decision. She 
would go to her and tell her all. She would 
tell her why she could not accept, — even for his 
child, a penny of his ill-gotten wealth. It 
would be hard for her to know the truth, but not 
harder for her than for herself, or for others. 
And yet what an ordeal to tell her. What if she 
would not listen? But she would; she had a kind 
face, and she was a Christian — a Catholic. And 
if she knew, perhaps through her the wrongs 
could be righted. Individuals — society — State ! 
How much there was to tell. And she, this woman ; 
only through her could redemption come; yes, 
only through her, the possessor of his stolen 
wealth. 

She returned to Nellie ’s room and made a hasty 
toilet, and when she went out into the street she 
looked scarce forty, this woman ten years older. 
She walked hurriedly down the street, and reach- 
ing a fashionable hotel she entered the door with 
many others, and sitting down at the parlor desk 
she took a blank card from her bag and wrote 
upon it “Nellie’s Mother,” and handed it to the 
boy in waiting. 

“Take this to room ” she said and sank 

back in her chair while awaiting an answer. He 
ran to the elevator and hastened to the room indi- 
cated, and as the maid took the card he heard her 
mistress’ word: 


156 


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^^Say that I will see her. Oh, I am so glad that 
she has come.’’ 

His nimble feet ran along at great speed, and he 
delivered the message most courteously. Surely 
she must be someone of importance, for had not 
one of the richest women in the country said she 
was glad that she had come? 

A few moments later he had shown her to Mrs. 
Patmore’s apartments. Margaret greeted the 
woman most cordially and inquired at great 
length regarding little Nellie. Suddenly she took 
the woman’s hand and looked well into her face. 

How strange, ’’she said, ‘‘that we have the same 
name. I understood the nurse at the hospital to 
address you as Mrs. Patmore. Are you, too, a 
widow?” 

The woman looked at her a moment and drew 
her hand away. She did not reply; she only asked 
that she might lie down. She turned to the 
nearest couch and leaned back against its 
cushions. 

She had fainted. 

Margaret called, ‘ ‘ Bring water — wine quickly ! ’ ’ 

Slowly the color came back into her face. She 
raised her head. It was still supported tenderly 
by the jeweled hand of the younger woman at her 
side. 

For a brief moment each looked into the other’s 
eyes; and then the marble like lips opened. 

“I came to talk with you,” she said “alone. 

Will you listen to what I have to say?” She was 
motioning as if she desired the maid to retire. 

Koette was asked to leave the room, and when 


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157 


she had closed the door behind her the woman 
moved her chair close to Margaret. In an almost 
inaudible voice she said: 

'‘You have asked me . . if . . I . . was . . a . . 
widow — ’’ 

Her voice choked. 

“No/’ she continued, “I am not so fortunate as 
to have that term applied to my condition.” 

Margaret was staring at her. What could she 
mean 

Again she was speaking. “But I have come 

. . That is what I have . . come . . for . . 
I have come . . to tell you . . what . . I . . 
am. To tell . . who . . I am . .We have the 
same name . . Yes . . You said . . ‘How 
strange !’ ” 

For a moment words seemed to fail her. She 
was looking pityingly into Margaret’s eyes. 

“Ah, you do not know . .You are so young 

. .You have been kept in ignorance of . . 
sin . . ” 

She was still looking into Margaret’s blue eyes. 

Ah, it was cruel to tell her ! 

At last the words came. 

“Madame,” she said, in a voice charged with a 
strange emotional accent. “Madame, . . you 

. . are . . the . . widow . . I . . am . . the 
deserted wife, . . and little Nellie . . .the for- 
saken child!” 

Margaret had clasped her hand. She was look- 
ing straight into her eyes. “What do you mean?” 
she cried. “Are you speaking the truth? Are 
you an impostor? Or has your reason fled?” 


158 


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For a moment the woman did not answer. Then 
she finally found courage. ''Come with me/’ she 
said, gently laying her hand upon Margaret’s 
arm, and leading her across the room she paused 
with her before a portrait which was set upon the 
mantel. 

"Look!” she said: "Look into his eyes. Mark 
the red brown hair. See the sharp features. And 
the color of his skin. It is a copy.” 

Then she drew from her dress a small locket, 
opened it and held it in front of Margaret’s face. 

"Take it. Look at it well . . It is the one 
from which this upon the mantel was painted. It 
is one which he gave me years ago. . . I have 
kept it only because it refiects the image of my 
child!” 

Margaret grasped the locket in her hand. She 
was still staring at the face within the case. 

"And,” further said the woman, "I have 
known his every step since he deserted us, al- 
though not once have my eyes rested upon his 
face.” 

Margaret had now taken her eyes from the pic- 
tured face in the locket and had fixed them upon 
the woman before her. Her gaze betokened in- 
quiry. 

"No,” said the woman. "He had no wrong to 
charge me with . . He forged the accusation 

. . Incompatibility . . Yes . . that . . was 
the . . word . . ” 

Margaret was still looking into her face. She 
was stunned. 

"And I uttered no word of remonstrance . . I 


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159 


understood . . I did not ask him to remain . . No, 
not . . even for the sake of my child . . Helpless 
as we are, as we have ever been, the heritage of 
poverty is better far than that of ill-gotten gold. ’ ’ 

Her voice took on a renewed bitterness. 

‘‘Yes,’^ she continued, ‘‘the deprivation of his 
companionship has been better for our souls than 
to have been dependent all these years upon a 
stipend from one whose sins had led him long ago 
even to the gates of hell T’ 

She leaned over and placed her hand upon Mar- 
garet’s arm. Her voice fell into a hoarse whisper. 

“Ah yes, he would have left us gold . . It was 
to take the place of love and care . . But it was 
rejected . . Why? Because it was tainted . . 
saturated with infamy . . How we have suffered ! 

. . But we have lived . . And today I have 
come to tell you that I cannot accept even from 
you — you whose heart seems so kind — one far- 
thing of the wealth which Judson Patmore stole 
from this fair state, and from the helpless ones 
still living within its borders. That it is too little 
prized by me . . even to take one penny even for 
Nellie’s sake . . his child’s sake . . .” 

Margaret had not yet spoken. She had listened 
as if in despair. She knew; — she had since his 
death felt that something was wrong ; — that many 
things were wrong. 

“He is dead,” said the woman, speaking in a 
softer tone. “Yes, dead; — and I do not hate 
you . . ” 

“But — ”, she came closer to Margaret and 
whispered : 


160 


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^‘But . . there . . is . . another . . who would 
. . not hesitate . . to kill us both ! ’ ’ 

Margaret’s face grew pale. She leaned her 
head against the mantel. 

The woman went on : — ‘'Yes . . and . .she was 
. . his . . wife . . also!” 

Margaret raised her head and pressed her hands 
against her face. She looked at the woman before 
her inquiringly — pityingly. 

“Yes, she too lives and suffers; . . and he 
wronged her more . . far more than either you or 
I, . . for he pawned his love for her inheritance, 
. . and then robbed her of both !” 

Margaret was aroused at last. She spoke im- 
ploringly. 

“Woman! Woman! Do you speak the truth? 
If so, tell me where she is, that I, too, may be con- 
vinced . . that I may go to her and make amends 
for all his wrongs . . for deeds so illy done ! . . ” 
The woman did not answer. 

“Speak! I command you!” cried Margaret. 
“In mercy tell me her name! Tell me where I 
may find her!” 

Margaret had now come close to her. She had 
placed both hands upon her shoulders. 

The woman, as if fearing to be overheard, was 
whispering: “Her name . . is . . Minneluska 

. . She is a . . squaw!” 

“An Indian? . . A squaw? . .” screamed Mar- 
garet. 

Ah, little did she know, — this unsophisticated 
one from the quaint old Hudson Valley — of the 
secrets of the pioneers. Of their loves and hates 


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161 


and wrongs. In the past the Northwest had been 
a dream to her. Now, she was awakening to its 
realities ! 

Margaret repeated the name. ^‘Minneluska — 
Minneluska.” ^‘‘Yes, the very name. And he 
called for her on the day he died. And the 
strange odd tongue. We thought it delirium — ^but 
now I understand.’’ 

She did not speak for some moments, instead 
she went over and sat for some time near a win- 
dow looking out upon the sky. 

Suddenly she rose, and again crossing the room 
she threw her arm over the shoulder of her 
guest, exclaiming, ^^Ah, no, you would not tell 
me this if it were untrue. And even so I wonder 
why I let you speak — of him — ^to me.’’ 

Madam,” replied the woman, am no trifler. 
What I am telling you is true.” 

'‘Then,” said Margaret between her sobs, “how 
we have been wronged. Oh my friend — ^my sis- 
ter — how we have been wronged.” She had 
clasped the woman’s face hysterically. “Yes, my 
friend — my sister. Oh, what shall I call you? In 
God’s name tell me what am I to you, what am I 
to myself and to the world?” 

She gave violent expression to her emotions, 
and for an hour she was uncontrollable. She 
walked the floor, she wept, she unloosed the mas- 
sive braids .of golden hair, she stroked herself in 
pitying agony, and then she sank exhausted upon 
the floor and wept until there were no more tears. 

The woman at whose feet she knelt sat silent 
and subdued. In her eyes there was no trace of 


162 


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moisture. From them as from her heart the light 
and life had gone. / 

Margaret finally became calm, and looked up 
into her face. It was a kind face — not old, and 
one which breathed of patient loving motherhood. 

"‘Tell me your name — your first name,’’ she 
finally said. 

‘‘Marion,” said the woman. 

“Then he had not forgotten you. He called 
that name many, many times in the last days, and 
he whispered Nellie, Nellie. Ah, no, he had not 
forgotten you.” 

Margaret hid her face in her hands. When she 
looked up into the woman’s face again she saw a 
look she had not seen before. It was one less 
hard, and less severe. 

“And his Indian wife. He did not forget her. 
No, it was only I, Margaret, who was forgotten. 
Not once did he speak my name.” 

She looked deeply into the woman’s eyes. 
They were softened with hot tears. 

“And there was still another name,” said Mar- 
garet, somewhat composed. “Do you know if 
there was an Indian child?” 

The woman hesitated. 

“Tell me,” said Margaret. 

“Yes, there was a daughter.” 

“And her home?” 

“In the forest,” replied the woman. 

“Have you seen her?” 

“Seen her? No,” answered the woman. “She 
is wild, — wilder than a forest doe, — and she prob- 
ably roams like one in our Northern woods.” 


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163 


In an instant Margaret was on her feet. Her 
Celtic anger was aroused. The proud impulse of a 
race whose honor had never failed was born 
anew within her heart. will go to them/^ she 
cried. will see this child. I will look upon 
this unfortunate woman — and then with my life, 
if needs be, I will pay penance for his sins.’’ 


CHAPTER XVH. 

The Duke’s visit was drawing to a close. He 
had been feted and feasted by Rosenbaum’s 
friends at Newport, Bar Harbor and Lenox. He 
had been entertained at the best clubs in the 
city. He had been shown the various industries in 
and about New York, and had visited the most 
interesting places for miles around. 

Rosenbaum had enjoyed his visit. They had 
spent many happy hours reviewing Oxford days ; 
and altogether it had given the young New York- 
er the greatest of pleasure to be able at last to 
return the hospitality which he had so many times 
enjoyed at Runleigh castle. 

They were sincere friends although each per- 
sonally represented the extremes of all that is 
typically English and American. They could 
agree to disagree ; and each one never failed in an 
opportunity to indulge in a racial thrust. To 
them it was enjoyment and was in every instance 
taken most kindly. 

They had that day come in from the Otsego 


164 


THE ONE MAN 


hills, where the Kosenhaum family were spending 
the autumn. Dinner was over in the town home 
and they were enjoying this last evening with 
their cigars on a rear balcony leading from the 
dining hall. 

It was September and the air, even in the city, 
was delightfully cool. While lighting his cigar 
the Duke turned to Kosenbaum, expressing great 
regret in leaving the charming country where he 
had passed such an enjoyable summer. 

''Well, Runleigh,” said Eosenbaum after a mo- 
ment, "I see you are leaving us heart free. Will 
you not at least tell me how my country women 
impress youT^ 

"Charming! Charming! All of them. But 
among them I have seen only one whom I could 
think of making the Duchess of Eunleigh.’’ 

Eosenbaum looked at him. He well knew of 
whom he was speaking, but he made inquiry in a 
courteous manner. 

"Miss Von Hoffman. Your queen of the Pali- 
sades,’’ replied the Duke. "Verily she is a prin- 
cess, Eosenbaum; and instead of being disagree- 
able, as one might think such a highly learned 
woman would be, she is, quite to the contrary, the 
most charmingly interesting woman I have met; 
a prize in every way.” 

The Duke relighted his cigar, which for some 
reason had persisted for the third time in going 
out. After he had succeeded he continued : 

"What would you think of her as my Duch- 
ess? I am thinking of addressing her upon thk 
subject after I return to England.” 


THE ONE MAN 


165 


Eosenbanm replied: ^^Miss Von Hoffman would 
do honor even to the throne of England.’’ 

‘ ^ Elegant woman ! Striking ! Beautiful ! ’ ’ again 
remarked the Duke. 

‘‘But Eunleigh,” said Rosenbaum, “if you so 
much desire to make her the Duchess of Runleigh 
why do you wait your proposal uptil you return 
to England? Why do you not go this very even- 
ing and extend the honor personally?” 

“She is not in town, Rosenbaum; besides my 
steamer sails tomorrow morning,” replied the 
Duke. 

“She is in town. Came yesterday. I met her 

on the avenue after leaving you at N ’s as 

we came in today.” 

The Duke looked up inquiringly. 

“Yes, indeed, I mean it. The sea should not sep- 
arate a man from the woman he loves when he 
confers upon her the honor of a marriage pro- 
posal,” said Rosenbaum emphatically. 

“But — ^but — ” stammered the Duke, “I really 
had not thought much about loving her yet — that 
would be a later consideration — after I was ac- 
cepted, you know. She is a beautiful woman, and 
it is not very difficult to love beautiful women, 
especially one like Miss Von Hoffman.” 

He did not say it, but Rosenbaum knew what 
he meant. He was looking more at Miss Von 
Hoffman’s wealth than at the woman. 

“You will have to hasten,” said Rosenbaum. 
“It is now eight-thirty. I will go at once and 
order my carriage for you.” 

“Thank you, thank you very, very much,” re- 


166 


THE ONE MAN 


plied the Duke as he left the balcony and pro- 
ceeded to his apartments 

Eosenbaum rang the coachman’s hell; and as 
he returned he met the Duke leaving the hall for 
the next floor. 

^‘Then you would really go?” he said again as 
Eosenbaum came down the hall. 

‘‘Yes, most certainly. Go and call upon her at 
least,” replied Eosenbaum. 

The young American brushed his hair back 
from his forehead. He hesitated a moment and 
then said: “Eunleigh, I understood you to say 
that you had not thought of love in this case. 
— Perhaps I do not know — but — ^but — ” 

The Duke knew what he wanted to say. He 
turned upon him proudly, almost defiantly: “But 
Americans are easily honored! — ^Even the best of 
them! Eunleigh! Why, Eosenbaum, the name is 
one of the most aristocratic in all England ! And 
this woman is no fool ! ’ ’ 

Eosenbaum was somewhat piqued, and his face 
flushed with perturbed emotion: “No, Eunleigh,” 
he said, “she is no fool, but remember, sir, she is 
an American princess !” 

He gave Eosenbaum no reply, but hurried on 
towards his apartments. Had he looked back he 
would have observed a twinkle in the eyes of his 
American host. He would have been angered also 
had he seen the smile which came across Eosen- 
baum ’s face, — a smile which told of faith in Fred- 
rika’s Americanism. A self satisfied smile 
which indicated a positiveness that if even a 
King of England offered his hand to her without 


THE ONE MAN 


167 


love, and she herself had none to give, that he 
would meet with a frank refusal. 

Rosenbaum walked on down the hall. He 
would say no more. At heart he was truly glad 
that his friend would at last have an opportunity 
of finding out that America had a type of woman 
— ^the true standard type— whose honor, whose 
innate refinement, whose lofty ideals had not be- 
come contaminated with the influence of the 
money mad, glory chasing, fictitious element 
which had done so much to make American 
women the butt of ridicule in foreign countries. 
He was sure that Predrika Von Hoffman would 
not fall short of his opinion of her character. He 
sauntered into the library. He would read while 
awaiting the Duke’s return. 

In less than an hour the Rosenbaum footman 
was assisting his Highness to alight in front of an 
elegant residence in one of the oldest and most 
fashionable sections of the city. The house was 
a massive structure built many years ago as a 
present to Predrika ’s mother. The family for 
years only occupied it for a fortnight every 
autumn, although it was kept up, by an old butler 
and his wife whose duties had been lessened to 
caretakers. It stood on the corner of a block 
built solid with other stone structures owned by 
the Von Hoffman estate. The Duke had not failed 
to find this out, and as he peered from the car- 
riage window he was thinking, not so much of the 
young woman to whom he was about to offer the 
title of Duchess, as of the enormous income which 
must annually be derived from this property. 


168 


THE ONE MAN 


The footman opened the door as the horses 
halted at the curb. He stood still until the Duke 
had received a response to his ring. The butler 
who opened the door took his card and cour- 
teously ushered him to a seat in the drawing 
room. He bowed and left the room, going straight 
up the elegant staircase to a door on the right. It 
was opened, and from the golden tray which he 
held out before her, Fredrika took the handsomely 
engraved card. 

After she had read the name she smilingly 
looked up at the old butler and said in a low 
voice: ''A Duke, Robert! A real, English Duke!’^ 

He bowed low. 

As he returned to the drawing room he mut- 
tered to himself: ‘‘A Dook. Ah-ha, It’s many iv 
thim that Oi’ve seen in me day. A Dook with an 
eye on th’ money ’ere. But Miss Fredrika niver 
will marry a Dook. Too foine she is fur anny 
Dook that iver walked on th’ green ’ills iv Hing- 
land or any ither land.” 

When the old butler again entered the drawing 
room, he bowed a good deal lower than when in 
the gentleman’s presence before. He stood under 
the eyes of an English aristocrat, and no foreigner 
ever becomes so thoroughly Americanized as not 
to bow a little lower to a titled man than to an 
ordinary gentleman. They claim to despise class 
distinction, but there still survives the inborn rev- 
erence, which will not go down, — for the man 
who, according to the standards of the Old 
World is socially their superior. 

‘^Miss Von Hoffman will see your Highness, 


THE ONE MAN 


169 


sir/’ he said, and then he bowed very low again 
and slowly backed out of the room. 

The Duke had seated himself in an easy chair. 
After the butler went out he stared about the 
room. He was dazzled by his surroundings. 

He had visited many American homes. He had 
looked upon the extremes of elegance in many 
lands, but this home surpassed them all. As he 
glanced down the spacious apartments and on 
through adjoining rooms filled with tropical 
splendour, he could only compare the sumptous- 
ness and grandeur before him with the palatial 
homes of the Old World. He was a connoisseur in 
art and furnishings, and he at once perceived that 
exquisite taste, as well as gold was manifested 
everywhere. 

The floors were inlaid with costly woods. Per- 
sian carpets stretched here and there. Kichly em- 
broidered coverings were on the chairs and divans. 
Cabinets of rare mahogany inlaid with ivory and 
gold and upon them priceless bric-a-brac from 
many lands. Satin and tapestry covered walls 
surmounted with hand carved mouldings of 
enameled oak. Gold and crystal reflecting light 
like the illumination of softened sunshine — science 
added unto art. Hangings at the windows which 
told of foreign handicraft. Pictures and statuary 
from the masters who made them. In all these 
rooms not one unreal imitative thing. 

'^And this in America! By Jove, I do know a 
lot more about her people than when I came. ” He 
had spoken half aloud. 

Then his thoughts turned to the elegance of 


170 


THE ONE MAN 


other homes. To the charming Newport villas, to 
the mansions out in Lenox, and to the magnifi- 
cent castleated and classic structures at the na- 
tion’s capital and on the New World’s Rhine. He 
remembered the cultivated, kindly people he had 
met. He remembered their hospitality and their 
sincerity. Ah, how different it all was from what 
he had read and heard of Americans. 

While he was thus absorbed, he was startled by 
approaching footsteps. A moment later Fredrika 
entered the room. He rose and bowed low, as she 
extended her hand in greeting. 

She had never looked more strikingly beauti- 
ful, never more stately, never more than at this 
moment that she would, according to his ideals, 
become the title which he had come to offer her. 

She was dressed in a soft, cream silk dinner 
gown, the folds of which swept in graceful 
lengths upon the fioor. The bodice was moder- 
ately low cut and partially covered with graceful 
surpliced folds, which well brought out the beau- 
tiful contour of her neck and bust. A broad sash 
encircled her waist and hung to the hem of her 
gown in the back. Her dark hair was arranged 
modishly and high, and gracefully nestling upon 
one side her maid had placed the half opened 
bud of a small American Beauty rose. 

As she turned to take a seat on a delicate 
green and white silk covered Roman chair, he 
mentally pronounced her the most beautiful and 
queenly of all women he had ever seen. 

Fredrika talked with him of Newport events, 
inquired as to the enjoyment of his visit in Amer- 


I 


THE ONE MAN 


171 


ica; and then turned to Old World topics, 
especially of his native country. Then the con- 
versation drifted on to art and music as formal 
conversations often do, when suddenly he turned 
towards a magnificently carved Steinway in a 
near by corner and asked her if she sang. 

‘‘A few simple melodies,” she replied, hesitat- 
ingly. She thought he seemed confused and she 
immediately rose to take her place at the piano. 

He expected from her attitude to hear the com- 
monplace. But a moment later she was playing 
from Chopin with most exquisite touch. He 
listened with delight. When she paused he com- 
plimented her highly; and then as if in courtesy, 
she indulged for some moments in a few light 
strains from English opera. Again she paused 
and still again he was effusive in his compliments. 
When he had finished she turned again to the in- 
strument. She was playing the national air, 
America. 

He had leaned back and with folded arms was 
listening intently, while her clear contralto voice 
sang : 

‘^My country Tis of thee. 

Sweet land of liberty. 

Of thee I sing. 

Land where my fathers died. 

Land of the pilgrims’ pride. 

From every mountain side. 

Let freedom ring.” 

She finished the first verse. Her fingers glided 
over the keys in an aimless interlude. She sang 


172 


THE ONE MAN 


the second one, and when she had finished she 
turned around upon her seat. He was standing 
before her. He was saying : 

‘'Miss Von Hoffman, do you so love America 
that you would not leave it for another land?’’ 

She looked up into his face. She did not un- 
derstand. 

Then he took a seat upon a chair standing near 
her, and as he would offer in formal presentation 
a material gift, he calmly and without emotion, 
said : 

“Miss Von Hoffman, I have come to-night to 
ask you, the most beautiful woman in the New 
World, to become the Duchess of Kunleigh.” 
After he had finished he leaned back in his chair. 
He was formally awaiting her reply 

She looked frankly into his face — ^into his eyes, 
and in as much composure as she could summon 
she replied: 

“Why did not your Highness send an ambas- 
sador to ask the question?” 

She had read of conventional marriages, of con- 
ventional proposals through formal channels, but 
a formal proposal from a man who himself 
wanted to marry her. A man whom she scarcely 
knew and to whom she had not given the slightest 
thought except that of knowing him as a dis- 
tinguished guest among her friends. How strange 
it seemed. How ridiculous. How horrifying. 

He looked at her a moment. He was reading 
her thoughts. “I see you do not understand. It 
is because you are an American woman,” he said 
quickly. 


THE ONE MAN 


173 


She was too well poised mentally to be discon- 
certed by an offer of marriage from even the 
Duke of Runleigh ; but when he added to the cold 
blooded proposition this slight allusion to her 
Americanism, her pride was replaced by indigna- 
tion. She immediately rose from her seat at the 
piano and standing where she could look direct- 
ly at him and yet not be so near him, she said : 

‘ ‘ If you were an American, sir, and came to me 
with an offer of marriage, such as you have given 
me, I should be inclined to doubt your sanity. 
As an English gentleman of rank you deserve my 
pity — yes, the pity of even an American woman.’’ 

He looked at her in astonishment. What right 
had she to speak thus to him? He was piqued 
and said to her reprovingly: 

‘ ' Why ! Miss V on Hoffman ! ’ ’ 

‘‘Yes,” she repeated the words, her face now 
flushing with unconcealed anger, “you are great- 
ly to be pitied, sir.” 

He looked at her again. He had been told that 
American women were independent. Ah, how he 
would like to curb her liberty of speech ! 

“Yes,” continued the beautiful Fredrika, “any 
man who departs from the laws governing the 
natural world — even the laws governing the brute 
creation in the selection of their mates — and 
comes to an intelligent human creature, without 
one expression of love, one word of kindly af- 
fection, one single demonstration of that highest 
emotion in man, is certainly an individual deserv- 
ing pity from his fellow men and women.” 

He looked steadily into her face ; if he was 


174 


THE ONE MAN 


angry he did not manifest it. She continued in a 
well modulated, courteous tone of voice. 

‘‘Yes, such disregard for the laws of sex se- 
lection will result, not only in the downfall of the 
individual, but of the family and the race. And, 
sir, my answer is this^ — I thank you — and it is for 
your own happiness as well as for my own that I 
shall decline your offer to become the Duchess of 
Eunleigh. The man who wins my love must first 
honor me with his own. ’ ’ 

“But Miss Von Hoffman, there is more cour- 
tesy, more refinement in royal methods. Common 
courtship as with the plebian class is not in vogue 
with us.’’ 

Fredrika smiled. 

“Who then would not regret royal methods? 
Who would not be the plebian?” she replied. 

He was staring at her in marked astonishment. 
He was entranced with her beauty. He thought 
of how much the estates of Runleigh needed the 
wealth which a marriage with this woman would 
command. 

But he answered her not. The subject was one 
which he had never studied. He had come to 
America a decade too late. The exchange of gold 
coronets was no longer in vogue in select circles. 
The true American had higher ideals. 

She further continued: “To me the perfect 
marriage should be based on the high plane of at- 
traction ; of personal magnetism ; of afiinity. And 
neither the high nor lowly born can well forget 
that such spontaneous emotion must ever precede 
the declaration of man’s love for womankind. 


THE ONE MAN 


175 


Like the minerals and the chemic atoms every- 
where, we as humans, love and hate, attract and 
repel. Through this we help to solve the prin- 
ciples of life. Through this we aid in completing 
the grand passion of the universe.’^ 

He interrupted her. 

‘‘Do you not think other conditions should also 
be considered when marriage and the rearing of 
offspring is contemplated? Such questions as 
family, blood?’’ 

“No!” replied Fredrika. “Consider in this re- 
lation, nothing but love ; for it transcends all else 
in the production of humanity, in reaching the 
ultimatum of human happiness. Ideal to every 
heart the passion portrayed in classic form. In- 
comparable is Eomeo 1 In Juliet we see that love 
which liveth forevermore!” 

“We do not know that their love would have 
survived. My dear Miss Von Hoffman, love is 
sometimes a very subtle thing. ’ ’ 

“Ah, yes,” she replied, “it is a subtle thing!” 

“You cannot grasp it. Seize the breath of morn 
Or bind the perfume of the rose as well, 

God put it in my soul when I was born ; 

It is not mine to give or sell. 

Or offer up on any altar shrine.” 

“The germ, the nucleus exists, and like all else 
in nature it must find its own. Emerson speaks of 
this perfect union of souls as life’s ideal. A love 
having no sin, asking no more than Romeo — than 
Juliet. He says: ‘Night, day, studies, talents, 
kingdoms, religion are all contained in this form 
of soul, in this soul which is all form. The lovers 


176 


THE ONE MAN 


delight in endearments, in avowals of love, in 
comparisons of their regards. When alone they 
solace themselves with the remembered image of 
the other. Does that other see the same melting 
cloud, read the same book, feel the same emotions 
that now delight me? Then try and weigh their 
affection, and adding up all costly advantages, 
friends, opportunities, properties, exult in discov- 
ering that they would give all as a ransom for the 
beautiful, the beloved head, not one hair of 
which shall be harmed. But the lot of humanity 
is upon these children. Danger, sorrow and p.ain 
arrive to them as to us all. Love prays. It 
makes covenants with Eternal Power in behalf of 
this dear mate. The union which is thus af- 
fected, and which adds a new value to every 
atom in nature — for it transmutes into a golden 
ray, and bathes the world in a new and sweeter 
element — is yet in a temporary state.” 

“Think you. Miss Von Hoffman, that even such 
love may not change? That this attraction, this 
affinity which you speak of is not an imstable 
thing ? ’ ’ 

“No, not this,” replied Fredrika. “Such love 
as I speak of is a progressive emotion; and 
as the varying experiences of life come on — as 
they must come to every one — this sweet emotion 
unfolds itself like the crysalis into a form, which 
althought different is just the same. Thus it 
leads us safely onward, even though our feet 
at times may be dangerously near the precipices 
leading to destruction. Let me quote you more 
from our incomparable philosopher. His are post 


THE ONE MAN 


177 


graduate lessons. They deserve to be well 
learned.’’ 

The Duke was interested. It had never oc- 
curred to him that love and marriage should be 
included in any man’s philosophy. Hitherto it 
had only seemed a convenience, a sentiment 
which lived and died, much as the lighter pleas- 
ures of mankind. 

Fredrika went on: 

‘^Emerson further says: ‘Not always can 
flowers, pearls, poetry, protestations, nor even 
home in another heart content the awful soul that 
dwells in clay. It craves for a perfect beatitude 
and detects incongruities, defects and dispropor- 
tion in the behavior of the other. Hence arises 
surprise, expostulation, pain. Yet that which 
drew them together was signs of loveliness, signs 
of virtue, and these virtues are still there, how- 
ever much eclipsed. They appear and reappear 
and continue to attract; but the regard changes, 
quits the signs and attaches to the substance. This 
repairs the wounded affection. Meanwhile as life 
wears on it proves to be a game of permutation 
and combination of all possible positions of the 
parties, to extort all the resources of each, and ac- 
quaint each with the whole strength and weak- 
ness of the other. For,’ he further says, ‘it is the 
nature and end of each other that they should 
represent the human race to each other. All that 
is in the world which is or ought to be known is 
cunningly wrought into the texture of man, of 
woman.’ And thus this greatest of philosophers 


I 


178 


THE ONE MAN 


reasons on, and tells ns: ^That until this love, 
which the great Creator of the Universe im- 
planted within the souls of men and women is 
disciplined and trained by the experience of a 
lifetime, until it loses its finite character and 
blends with God to attain its own perfection.’ ” 

‘^Do I understand you to say that the love of 
man is but a part of the creative plan, and that 
man should drift along according to the dicta- 
tions of his own soul^ Is that. Miss Von Hoffman, 
the Emersonian philosophy?” inquired the Duke. 

will let Emerson make his own reply. He 
says, ^Do not fear that we can lose anything by 
the progress of the soul. The soul can be trusted 
to the end.’ ” 

‘^Emerson was in some ways your greatest 
philosopher; but Miss Von Hoffman,” said the 
Duke, ^^we cannot live by his teachings — at least 
not in England. He did not understand — ” 

Fredrika was wondering what he was going to 
say. He hesitated somewhat, and she waited de- 
fiantly for him to finish the sentence. 

‘‘No, he did not understand English pride.” 

‘‘No,” interrupted Fredrika, “but he under- 
stood nature and natural laws. He recognized 
the soul of things, something which modern so- 
ciety, English or American, fails to do. It is he 
who has told us that it avails us nothing to fight 
these laws, and that nothing is ever so deeply 
punished as their neglect. He reasons well; be- 
cause he reasons as human mortals think and 
feel.” 

“But do you not think,” he questioned, “that 


THE ONE MAN 


179 


human mortals think and feel, quite as their edu- 
cation impels them?’’ 

^^Yes, that is often true,” replied Fredrika, 
‘‘but in such cases the education is at fault. And 
it is also true that the best in education takes its 
ethics from the soul imp.ulse. What we call edu- 
cation often perverts the very highest impulses in 
our nature. The acquired is not always better 
than the instinctive.” 

“I scarcely understand you,” interrupted the 
Duke. 

“I must repeat it then,” said Fredrika. “I 
said that the soul impulse has had all to do with 
our better ethics. Take for example the history 
of language, through which medium the ethics of 
life are conveyed from generation to generation. 
Is it not true that long before man could frame 
one word — before the sign language even — primal 
man knew what it was to love, to hate, to feel 
pity, sorrow and pain? Did he not also long to 
give expression to his inborn impulses? Was not 
his laugh, his tearful, saddened eye, his bowed 
head, his exultant scream of joy, his horrifying 
cry of pain all we have to-day of either speech or 
thought ? ’ ’ 

He dared not say it, but he thought, what bosh 
to educate people, women especially, along these 
lines. A smile played round Fredrika ’s lips. She 
divined his thoughts. She knew that he was 
among the men who did not care whether society 
was just or not to conscience principles. She had 
only talked at length because she feared that he 
would again press the question of marriage. 


180 


THE ONE MAN 


The thought of it was more and more abhorrent 
to her. 

He was now staring into her beautiful face. 
Again he was thinking how much Kunleigh Castle 
needed the gold which this woman, as his wife, 
could bring to him. He rose and came closer to 
her. He would say something of love to her. 

She felt his breath close to her face. She took 
one step backward and assumed a dignity which 
commanded his respect. In her graceful independ- 
ent poise with one arm extended out upon the 
piano she looked like the goddess Juno. He was 
almost sure that he loved her. 

‘‘Miss Von Hoffman! You are a beautiful 
woman! You would make a charming Duchess.’^ 

Her cheeks flushed with an indignation which 
he did not now fail to interpret. 

‘ ‘ But, ’ ’ he went on, “ it is a pity you were edu- 
cated like a philosopher.^^ 

It was not what he intended to say. Her man- 
ner had forced the original thought into the 
background. She was glad because it gave her 
the chance to retort. How strange that this man 
of all others should so arouse her combativeness. 
It could not be racial antagonism, for she had 
many English friends. No, it was the man him- 
self. He was obnoxious to her. 

“And why the pity of it?’^ she retorted. “So 
that men would And it easy to steal from me, not 
only my fortune, but that dearer treasure, my 
womanly ideals?^’ 

He did not answer her. He was at the mo- 
ment thinking — even with her apparent impu- 


THE ONE MAN 


181 


dence-^ — ^how much more interesting was this young 
woman than any other he had met. To possess 
her as a wife, now seemed uppermost in his mind. 

He spoke again: ^^Miss Von Hoffman, you are 
not in the right mood to-night. May I not at 
some other time be permitted to again offer you 
the honor of becoming the Duchess of EunleighT^ 
He was bending his head close over her hand. 
He tried to reach it. He was saying: 

am learning to love you. I believe that I 
now love you very, very much.” 

She moved impulsively and took her hand 
away from his reach. 

A chill passed over her. thank you, sir. But 
please be kind and do not repeat what you have 
said.” She was impelled at first to resent such 
familiarity, but she finished by saying: ‘'for your 
offer of marriage, your expression of love for me 
does not reach my ideal.” 

She thought he was going to interrupt her. He 
flashed a look of defiance towards her. She tossed 
back her beautiful head and finished her reply: 
“No, it does not represent the value of even an 
American ideal.” 

She realized in a moment that she had been 
rude. But what could she do? Was it not her 
privilege, her duty in declining him to give her 
reasons therefor? And then, too, he had mani- 
fested a disposition to belittle her nationality. To 
forget that she was a goddess of liberty. To not 
forget that he was an Englishman — and a Duke. 
The thought forgave her. She was glad that she 
had answered him thus. 


182 


THE ONE MAN 


He realized that he had failed to impress her 
with his superiority. He remembered what Eos- 
enbaum had said. She was one type of American 
he had not known. 

She also realized that she had said enough. She 
also knew that in order to dismiss him decently in 
the end that she must try to keep his egotism to 
the front. 

‘‘Be seated, sir,’’ she said, taking a chair near 
his, “and let us talk this subject over now as 
friends.” She spoke so frank, so friendly that he 
could not resist her. He sat down and awaited 
what she wished to say. 

‘ ‘ To my mind, sir, Englishmen or other foreign- 
ers should not marry Americans!” 

“Do you really think so?” he said as he 
leaned back in his chair. He was now quite ready 
to listen. Be ally this American had ideas. 

For a moment Fredrika fixed her eyes upon 
him. At a glance she had taken in his physiog- 
nomy. Hitherto it had been the mental, the soul 
contact. 

He was dainty, well dressed, small in stature, 
slightly built, with sharp black eyes, dark hair, 
which had been smoothly combed, and parted to 
the left above a high, extra full, but not broad 
forehead. A face clean shaven, except the short 
side whisker extending for about two inches be- 
low each ear. He wore the inevitable monocle 
with its long delicate cord dangling over his shirt 
front. His manner was somewhat brusque, his 
voice pleasingly soft, and his speech, although 
slightly drawling, was not tainted with Cockney 


THE ONE MAN 


183 


accents. He was with all a seemingly well bred 
Englishman and one filled to the uttermost with 
racial pride, supplemented with the arrogance of 
titled possessions a castle and a dukedom. 

replied Fredrika, ‘‘for we do not rep- 
resent much in common. Educationally, socially, 
in our homes, in our tastes, in our temperaments 
we are vastly different, and as nations, we should 
be kept pure, each one to work out its own ideals, 
its own problems.” 

“But Miss Von Hoffman, we differ so slightly, 
the English and American, and I have known 
many happy marriages between them.” 

“We are alike only in color and language. And 
as to marriages, I too, have known of many in- 
stances, and the happiness which has been evi- 
dent has been at the expense of living every hour 
in confiict with the ideals of either one or the other. 
It is a kind of happiness which represents a form 
of slavery. It is not to be courted by any of us.” 

For another half hour they discussed these 
questions in a light and agreeable manner, and 
then he rose to go. 

With the grace and dignity of a duchess she ex- 
tended her hand in farewell. Silently he passed 
out from her presence a wiser man. He had met 
at least one American woman whose love and 
pride of country surprised him. It had given him 
a higher opinion of America. It enhanced his ad- 
miration of American women, the true American 
woman whose inherent greatness, whose patriot- 
ism will yet place our country at the head of na- 
tions. 


184 


THE ONE MAN 


Eosenbaum awaited his guest in the library. 
He was half asleep when the Duke opened the 
door. 

‘‘Well/^ said the young American, as he en- 
tered the room. ^^What luck, old boy?’’ 

‘‘Damned poor,” replied the Duke. 

They did not discuss the subject further. They 
talked of other things until long past midnight. 

At last the Duke retired. He dreamed of Eun- 
leigh Castle, and of a Duchess. 

She was none other than Fredrika Von Hoff- 
man. 


CHAPTEE XVHI. 

Again it was autumn in Minnesota, and the 
golden sun was dancing like a fickle goddess 
through the leaves and branches of an ancient 

forest on the shores of M lake. There was a 

ripened odor in the atmosphere which breathed of 
falling leaves, of nuts ungathered, and of the 
cornshocks in the open, full in golden ears. Grape 
vines hung from the limbs of gnarled and massive 
oaks, heavy in purple tinted fruitage, and wild 
rice was ready for the gathering far and near. 
Mallards were fiying overhead, their mottled 
breasts full of the rich grains which at this season 
they share reluctantly with the red men and the 
nearby settlers. The lake shore was a mass of 


THE ONE MAN 


185 


thickly wooded groves, the birch, the stately 
pines, the poplars and among them hardy oaks 
and maples well tinted with autumn colors and 
partly bare of leaf signaled the closing year. 

Bang ! bang ! resounded a gun, and in another 
instant a dark brown dog was far out in the 
water floundering and swimming as best he could 
through the rice beds in quest of the kingly mal- 
lard whose rich green head had been shattered 
by the hunter's shot. Just then a party of men 
and women came out into the opening near the 
shore and a blue eyed little girl who accom- 
panied them exclaimed : 

Oh lady. Seethe little houses over there! 
And the funny people." And she danced with 
laughter as she viewed the Indians in their gaily 
tinted garbs of blankets, skirts and skins. The 
woman addressed was Margaret and the child was 
none other than little Nellie who with her mother 
and the two gentlemen were there on an import- 
ant pilgrimage. 

Margaret looked in the direction to which Nel- 
lie had called her attention, and high on a bluff 
to the north overlooking the lake she saw a long 
row of tepees or Indian tents. They were ar- 
ranged in a crescent shaped line, and through 
them she discerned the distant forest stretching 
far away to the North. 

A young half breed came running towards 
them. He addressed them in comprehensive Eng- 
lish, and offered his services as guide. Margaret 
talked with him for some time, and then he turned 


186 


THE ONE MAN 


and ran to the top of the blnff above where they 
were standing. He gave a yell. It was weird. 

Soon it was answered, and within another half 
hour, there was seen coming from aronnd a 
wooded bend on the lake shore, a light canoe, 
which glistened as it sped across the narrow bay. 

It soon reached the rude landing at the foot of 
the bluff, and with apparently one stroke of the 
oar, the red skinned canoist turned it swiftly and 
deftly as if to give an exhibition of his oarsman- 
ship. 

The half breed was already at the landing and 
for some moments the two men talked earnestly 
in their native tongue. Every now and then the 
Indian in the boat would shrug his shoulders and 
give expression to a peculiar grunt-like sound as 
he cautiously looked up from beneath his heavy 
brows. 

Finally an arrangement seemed to be effected 
and the half breed motioned to Margaret. She 
went down to the water’s edge and he told her 
that she could be taken up the lake. 

She at once stepped into the narrow structure 
but before seating herself she shrank back and 
asked the half breed to help her out upon the 
shore. She dared not cross in so light a thing. 

The Indian in the boat comprehended her fears. 
He turned the boat around several times, and 
then gave it several rocking motions as if to as- 
sure her of its trustworthiness. The half breed 
also assured her of the skilful oarsmanship of the 
canoist and the perfect safety of the little white 
barked craft. 


THE ONE MAN 


187 


Finally she again stepped into the frail thing 
and took a seat between the guide and the oars- 

man. . x. 

‘^Oh mamma!’’ cried Nellie, as she watchert 

Margaret glide away in the frail canoe. ^‘Will 
the Injuns keep her always?” And then in her 
childish fear she called as loud as she could 
scream i 

‘^Come hack. 0, my lady, come hack to me!” 

But Margaret heard her not. She was already 
half a mile up the lake gliding like swift light- 
\ ning towards the North. 

‘‘Nellie, dear,” said her mother, “the lady 
wants to see how these red men live. She is com- 
ing back to us to-night. You and I will walk 
down to the camp and make a good supper for 
her.” 

But Nellie kept on sobbing. She constantly ex- 
pressed fears that the Indians would carry her 
‘lady’ away. 

Finally the mother quieted her and then to- 
gether they walked leisurely back to the camp, 
picking up the nuts and leaves which had fallen 
like a carpet everywhere. When they reached the 
camp, Nellie’s doctor and Uncle Fred were al- 
ready ahead of them and sitting on the ground 
awaiting their return. 

Neither of the gentlemen knew who Margaret 
was, nor what her mission was to the Indian 
camps in the forest. They were paid to accom- 
pany the woman as attendants on account of 
safety. Nellie’s mother was the chaperone and 
no doubt the woman — evidently one of wealth 


188 


THE ONE MAN 


— ^had been referred to her in a professional ca- 
pacity. The traveler no doubt felt safer if a 
nurse and physician accompanied her. 

When Nellie and her mother went into the 
camp, the two men resumed a conversation which 
had been interrupted. 

‘'Perhaps she is writing Indian lore,’’ ventured 
the doctor. “Even then I should think she would 
prefer a white companion to go with her. This 
going into the depths of these dense woods with 
no one except a half breed guide is not to my 
mind a very prudent thing to do.” 

The young man in a somewhat drawling accent 
replied that “he believed that she was a New 
Yorker and hadn’t seen much of the world” and 
that “he supposed that to see an Injun on his na- 
tive heath was a great novelty to such as she.” 
That he “guessed the guide was all right.” That 
he “believed a Bishop in the ’Piscopal church had 
sent her to his sister,” and that “it wassent best 
to worry too much about her.” 

He paused a moment and a smile lighted up his 
face. ^^Say, all I am afraid of is that she won’t 
stay out here long enough to give us time to hunt 
much.” 

The doctor did not answer. He was evidently 
thinking that the boy hardly realized the danger 
of the excursion into the forest. 

The boy got up and walked over to where the 
doctor was lounging. “Say,” he said, “aren’t 
you worrying too much about that girl? How in 
the world did you come to miss that last duck, 
Doctor? It was the biggest mallard I ever saw.” 


THE ONE MAN 


189 


This aroused the doctor from his reverie. He 
jumped to his feet. “By Jocks, Fred, it was a 
shame.” Then he turned and picked up the game 
they had shot and went on into the camp. 

As they reached the door the lumberman who 
“took charge” of the camp while the “Jacks” 
were ‘ ‘ down stream, ’ ’ and who had so kindly of- 
fered them the use of the camp “jist fur to ac- 
comerdate th’ Doc’,” came in to light the fire and 
assist Nellie’s mother in preparing the evening 

meal. . , . , , ^ , 

A regular “down Easter” this kmd hearted 
man. His attire, that of the typical woodsman. A 
checked blue shirt with low collar and no tie, and 
over it a faded out old Mackinaw coat which had 
done at least a hard winter’s service. Gray duck 
trousers well stretched for the accommodation of 
the numerous suits of undergarments which he had 
been obliged to wear to keep himself warm in the 
winter time. Upon his head an old slouch hat 
worn back from his forehead; and upon his feet 
a pair of thick white domestic stockings — the 
first series of several pairs which he would add 
as the cold weather came on. Over these he had 
a pair of coarse rubbers which he was in 
the act of removing as he sat down upon a rude 
stool after throwing the armful of finely cut pine 
kindling upon the floor near the stove. 

“It’s gittin’ cold agin,” he said in bashful tones. 

The doctor replied in an ofE-hand familiar way 
which at once placed the man at ease. 

“I’m lookin’ fur a cold spell soon,” he said, 
taking a seat near the doctor. “An mor’n that. 


190 


THE ONE MAN 


Doc, we^re goin’ to have a gosh darn cold winter 
up here in Minnesoty this year. Haven’t you fel- 
lers seen the muskrat houses round here? They’ve 
begun ’em early and they’re bildin’ em’ ’igher ’n 
I’ve seen ’em fur years. An’ th’ pesky squirrels, 
they’re carryin’ off ev’ry thing they kin. An’ the 
corn husks — ^why they’re thicker ’n a hoard this 
fall. And look at that hornet’s nest, too, it’s 
right close to th’ ground.” 

As he said this he leaned over and attempted 
to pick up one of the mallards. The old water 
spaniel uttered a low growl. She had not once 
taken her eyes off from him since he sat down, 
and not once removed her nose from the ducks 
since her master had tossed them upon the floor. 

‘‘Chess, old girl, he quiet,” said the doctor, 
“don’t you know you are this man’s guest?” 

She looked up at her master, then down at the 
pile of ducks and then flxed her eyes again upon 
the lumberman. 

“Fine luck you fellers had to-day,” he said, as 
he changed his seat to one across the room from 
where Chess was lying. “Mighty good watch dog 
you’ve got there. Doc. An’ you’ve no idee how gol 
dam glad I am to see ye. A fellar gits lonesome 
as a dog out here, stayin’ alone all summer watch- 
in’ things ’til the crew comes back. Lots of In- 
juns round here, but they hain’t much company 
fur a man, and mor’n that, they’re too goll darn 
dirty fur me.” 

“Yes, we have had fine luck to-day,” said the 
doctor, as he reached over and picked up one of 
the mallards and stroked its beautifully feathered 


THE ONE MAN 


191 


breast. '‘Wild rice is most excellent food for 
them. Just see how full his crop is. Ah, this 
indeed, is a paradise for sportsmen!’’ 

He turned the duck over and over again. 
' ' Wish I could have a slice of you to-night old fel- 
low,” he said. "But it’s too late. Ducks need 
long cooking and even then the ’re not the best 
game to dream on.” 

Then the doctor replaced the mallard with the 
others and turned to the young man who had been 
unusually silent for some time. 

"How I should like to spend a month every 
autumn in these wilds?” he said. "But there’s no 
use thinking about it. A doctor in a small town 
doesn’t have the most enviable life in the world 
as far as recreation goes. The people never think 
that he needs a vacation, and if he steals a day 
of shooting now and then they rarely forgive him. 
If a physician is at a circus or a ball game they 
will excuse him if he cannot attend to a case at 
once, but if he is ' out hunting ’ that settles it with 
some people. Why, Fred, there’s many a family 
who will overlook a lay up with delirium tremens 
quicker than they will a week’s outing with dog 
and gun. And it’s the same way about dogs, isn’t 
it. Chess?” And the kind-hearted man bent ten- 
derly over the old retriever and gave her an extra 
emphatic pat. "A man may indulge a fancy for 
fine horses, fine cattle, anything but dogs.” 

"I’ve noticed that, too, Doctor,” replied the boy. 
"And I have also wondered why it was when a 
doctor was in the habit of having sprees that the 
folks always thought that when that doctor was 


192 


THE ONE MAN 


sober that he was better ’n those who didn’t have 
them. 

The doctor smiled. 

'‘Well, it’s so, anyway, Doctor,” said the boy. 
"But if I am ever sick I wouldn’t pick out that 
kind of a man. I want a doctor whose head is 
strong enough to let the stuff alone all the time. 
You can’t make me believe that a drunken spree 
every few weeks improves the mind of any doctor 
in the universe.” 

The doctor neither argued or confirmed the 
question. Just then the old camp man who had 
been helping with the supper came back to an- 
nounce that it was ready. 

After it was over the boy got up from the table 
and silently walked out of the cabin. For some 
time he sauntered about the premises and finally 
sat down on the top of a large pine stump. He 
reached his hand into his trousers’ pocket, and 
taking out a jack-knife began whittling a small 
stick which he picked from the ground at his feet. 

The doctor and the campman had dressed the 
mallards and they were all ready for the next 
• day’s dinner. He bade the old gentleman good- 
night and lighting a cigar he, too, strolled out 
from the little cabin and walked up and down 
upon a well worn path in front of the door. When 
his cigar was half consumed he tossed it away 
and walking over to where Fred was sitting, he 
said : 

"Don’t you think, my boy, that your sister’s 
charge is out a long time?” He took out his 


THE ONE MAN 


193 


watch. is late,’’ he said. ^‘Somehow I feel 
anxious over her.” 

In a moment the young man shut up his knife, 
put it in his pocket, threw away all that was left 
of the stick he had been whittling and motioned 
to the doctor to come nearer. 

‘‘Say, Doctor,” he said; “Do you know that 
I bet I know where she went.” 

The doctor had taken a seat near the boy. He 
was interested. 

“You know, Doctor, that I have worked up in 
the pin’rys every winter for two years; and as 
you doctors would say, ‘there’s a mighty interest- 
ing case’ in the woods out to the north of us. 
Strange that I haven’t thought of this before.” 

“Well?” said the doctor. 

“You know you said, Doctor, that you’d bet she 
was writing a book. Now I’ll bet my bottom dol- 
lar that’s just what she’s up to.” 

The doctor shook his head affirmatively. 

“Let’s hear about the case, Fred.” 

“Well, Doctor, there’s a regular old queen out 
there somewhere. I’ve never seen her myself, 
but lots of the boys have. I saw her girl once. She 
was quite an old one, too. They say that she and 
her mother live all alone. And by Jocks, Doctor, 
that girl don’t look any more like an Injun than 
my sister does. She had the reddest hair you ever 
saw and light blue eyes and her skin — well it was 
as freckled as any turkey egg you ever saw.” 

“Well,” said the doctor, “this certainly is in- 
teresting.” 

“She didn’t look very bad either. Doctor,” the 


194 


THE ONE MAN 


boy went on. by heavens, if she wasn’t the 

wildest thing, — wilder than any deer yon ever 
saw. They said she was just scared to death if 
any white folks came around. Some of the boys 
used to try and see if they could tame her, — that 
is, just see if they could call her up to them; — 
same as they do deers, — but she’d just look at 
them a second, kindy wishful like, and then she ’d 
turn and run under her mother’s tent. And then 
’twas good day, for no man ever dared to go near 
the old squaw. They said she had a whole stack of 
poisoned arrows that she had kept for years to 
kill a white man that she used to know.” 

‘^Kill a white man?” said the doctor in excla- 
mation. 

''Yes. I’m going to tell you about it; but I 
first want to tell you how she looks. ’ ’ 

"All right, go ahead, Fred,” said the doctor. 

"I never saw her myself ; but Jim Hammons did 
once. He was a scaler and he came right onto her 
tent one morning. She sat outside sunning her- 
self. He got a good look at her; and he told us 
boys that she was a mighty big squaw and a very 
dark one. He thought she must have some French 
blood in her by the way she was dressed.” 

"Why, wasn’t she dressed like an Indian, 
Fred?” interrupted the doctor. 

"Not exactly,” replied the boy. "She had a 
real dress on,— it was a light green one, so Jim 
said, — and she had over her shoulders a real 
American striped shawl. You’ve seen them 
shawls. Doctor. My sister had one when I was a 
kid.” 


THE ONE MAN 


195 


The doctor smiled at the quaint way the boy was 
telling the story. ‘‘Yes, I remember those shawls. 
Just the kind an Indian would fancy, he replied. 

“But she hadn’t forgot the beads, doctor,” re- 
sumed the boy. “He said she had a lot of them 
on, too. More’n a hundred strings around her 
neck — every color you could imagine. And the 
funniest of it he said was the way she was eating 
an apple. For all the world just as a chipmunk 
would hold a nut, — and eating it downward, too, 
with her front teeth, just as they do.” 

“Yes, Fred, I have seen them do that,” said the 
doctor. 

“And rings, Doctor! Jim said there wasn’t a 
finger but what was loaded. Even her thumbs ; and 
they wasn’t all Injun rings, either — ^he saw that 
in a minute. But you bet he didn’t have time to 
take her all in; for the very minute he moved, 
she heard him as quick as a wink. He said she 
straightened up and looked over to where he 
stood, and that was all he wanted. Her eyes 
was terrible. He told us that he knew she must 
be crazy, crazier ’n a loon.” 

He looked querously into the doctor’s face. 

“Say,” he said; “Say, Doctor, did you ever 
hear of an Injun going crazy? Some folks say it 
ain’t in them.” 

The doctor replied that he was not especially 
well informed regarding their diseases, but that 
he had no doubt it would be possible under cer- 
tain conditions. 

“Well, she’s had the conditions all right, Doc- 
tor,” replied the boy. “They say she’s had a 


196 


THE ONE MAN 


mighty lot of trouble. She owned a whole lot of 
property — in her own name — in Canada and 
here, too, and one day a mean cuss came along 
from down East somewhere and either pretended 
to, or did marry her, and in some way or other he 
just got hold of every dollar the poor thing had, 
and then he skipped. And of course left that red- 
headed young one with her mother.^’ 

The doctor nodded his head. The boy went on. 

^^They say that for a long time she thought he 
was dead; but after awhile it came out that she 
had been swindled and deserted. It took some 
time to find this out, — these Injuns are so ignorant 
of white folks ’ meanness, — ^but when she did come 
to realize the truth of it, she got strange and 
never got over it; so the Injuns say. And that^s 
why she keeps that girl of hers so close to her. 
Probably she’s afraid that he or some of his 
friends will come and steal her, too.” 

He glanced slyly up at the doctor. ‘‘But I 
don’t think she need to worry over that, do you, 
Doctor? A man so mean as all that don’t want 
any Injun kids what belongs to him.” 

The doctor smiled. The boy resumed the story : 

“It is a terrible thingr, isn’t it, to have a man get 
so mean as all that. My sister, you know, had an 
experience, but it couldn’t hold a candle to this. 
He married again, you know. Eich as Lucifer, and 
my poor sister working like a slave every day to 
take care of another deserted kid. But then she ’s 
to blame you know, that is, for the work, for he 
offered to pay her in money for all the trouble he 
made her when she was his wife. Doctor, it is a 


THE ONE MAN 


197 


terrible thing, isn’t it? When I get married I’m 
going to stick to my wife. If I’m such a fool as 
to get fooled, you bet I won’t say anything about 
it to my friends. It’s for better or worse, that’s 
the way, isn’t it, doctor? And I say that it ain’t 
more’n right to stand by a bad bargain in this 
business than in any other business what the gov- 
eminent says you can go in.’’ 

The physician was looking squarely into the 
boy’s eyes as he looked up for an answer. 

‘^‘You are all right, Fred. Your philosophy is 
sane,” he answered. 

'‘Sane? You bet I am,” said the hoy. 

Again the doctor smiled. "Well,” he said, 
"tell me the rest of the story. Did any one ever 
find out who the man was?” 

"No, I guess not exactly. The Injuns say she 
has a picture of the man, one she painted from 
memory. She was quite a painter, they say ; 
learned it from her mother. And, Doctor, it must 
be some one that folks know, for an old lumberman 
told Dave Shannon once that if the public ever 
saw the picture that something worse ’n a cy- 
clone ’d strike things in the Northwest. But you 
know no one would have an idea just who it 
might be; there have been so many 'squaw men’ 
all through this country for years.” 

He paused and looked up into the doctor’s face 
inquisitively. 

"Say, Doctor,” he said after a moment. "You 
don’t suppose she had any business with her, do 
you?” 

The doctor thought a moment. "Can’t tell. 


198 


THE ONE MAN 


Fred/' he replied. ‘‘And probably we had better 
not be too curious. You see, my boy, we are here 
at her expense, and while we cannot help our in- 
terest in her safety, we must not be too curious 
about her business. 

The boy did not answer him. He felt the re- 
buke, although it was spoken in kindness. 

The doctor saw it and turned it off in an in- 
stant. “You see," he said, smilingly, “I am the 
physician in this party; and you— well. Fred, I 
guess you must be along in order to take the 
curse off my being out here alone with two 
women." 

The boy looked up. “It's what they call chap- 
eroning, isn't it. Doctor?" He was in good spirits 
again. 

“I guess that's what they call it, although I be- 
lieve in the parlance of society your sister would 
be the chaperone." 

“Well, I'm here, anyway," said Fred, what- 
ever they call it." 

“Yes, and I am here also," said the doctor. “I 
had to come; that's all there is about my being 
here. I'm paid and you can rest assured I need 
the money, too. The cyclone wiped out every- 
thing I had; and most everything my patients 
had; and it's going to make hard times in our 
county for some time. A hundred dollars for a 
week of my time out here will go a long way in 
replacing my office necessities." 

The doctor looked away into the distance. For 
some time he was silent. Then he rose from his 
seat, and lighting another cigar he walked around 


THE ONE MAN 


199 


the place for a few moments and then came back 
and sat down by the boy again. 

‘‘Well/’ said Fred, ‘‘I guess it must be all 
right anyway. ’Twouldn’t have happened if it 
hadn’t been.” 

And thus they talked on and on — ^this man of 
forty and this boy of seventeen, — frankly, simply, 
sincerely and interestingly to both. 

The night was fast coming on. Above the low 
horizon the red light of the harvest moon was 
growing brighter every hour. Soon it had cleared 
the tops of the distant forest trees, and there was 
no difference between the night and the day ex- 
cept one of tinting. The water was beautiful to 
look upon and the eye could see even farther upon 
its surface than under the light of day. 

Nellie had long been dreaming of her ‘Lady’; 
and Fred was snoring loudly in the little rear 
apartment. The doctor was resting on the floor 
of the cabin and old Chess was sleeping at his 
feet; while rolled up in a blanket on the ground 
outside, the kind man of the camp was utterly ob- 
livious of the aching hearts around him. 

All slept save the woman Marion. She alone 
sat through the long hours anxiously awaiting 
Margaret’s return. Not once had she a thought of 
fear for her safety. Death was not the worst 
thing for men and women. Sleep ! Ah, it was not 
hard for her to lose rest. She was too used to 
sleepless nights. She had spent too many in re- 
viewing her own sad life. 

Tonight she had a mutual sufferer, whose heart 
was bleeding, — ^not as her own had bled, with neg- 


200 


THE ONE MAN 


lect, with the bitterness of jealousy, with the 
stigma of desertion. No, it was a different heart- 
ache, a remorseful chagrin, a deep sense of having 
unconsciously wronged others, of having lived in 
luxury, in wanton extravagance upon money 
which the rightful owners had needed to buy 
bread and clothing to preserve their health. To 
have robbed helpless children not only of their pat- 
rimony, but of love and care. Love and care 
which had been lavished upon her; love and care 
which society had permitted her to receive as a 
dupe, as a co-partner in this crime ; love and care 
which society had permitted Judson Patmore to 
wrest from his own helpless children. 

As she sat looking out through the tiny pane in 
the little square window of the cabin, and thought 
more of the heartbreaking experiences into which 
she had initiated the young woman, she half re- 
gretted having spoken. The night seemed un- 
canny ; the wilderness . beyond vast and deep. 
What if she should not return f If she were killed 
by this maddened squaw? Death, which a mo- 
ment before seemed nothing to her, was hardly 
desirable when she realized that she had forced 
this woman into its very jaws. Ah, how glad she 
would be at her safe return. 

Suddenly she perceived a tiny speck upon the 
distant waters of the lake. She hastily threw a 
wrap around her and walked rapidly out through 
the door. ‘‘What a relief ’’ she softly said as she 
quietly stepped past the spot where the good man 
slept so quietly. 

She walked on down to the landing. 


THE ONE MAN 


201 


Yes, they were returning. She looked closely, 
but she could not make out the number in the 
boat. It was approaching swiftly. But swifter 
beat this woman’s heart. 

She looked again. Yes, it was Margaret, and 
she was safe. 

Her heart beat lighter. She almost smiled as 
the canoe glided into the little nook along side the 
old wooden landing. The half breed stepped out, 
and assisted Margaret across the rude structure 
to the shore. He said he would return on the 
morrow. In another instant the canoe shot to- 
wards the North with the two men. 

* # * 

The moon’s full splendor shone in silver tints 
across the pale face of the young woman as almost 
unconsciously and with tottering steps she walked 
towards the ledge, jutting out beneath the bluff. 

The older woman had taken her hand. It was 
cold and lifeless. She held it firmly as she sat 
down beside her. 

For a few moments there were no words, for 
Margaret had bowed her head upon her hands. 
At last the woman beside her spoke, and at the 
same time took her hand, the one upon which she 
was leaning most heavily. 

‘‘Are you convinced?” 

Margaret raised her head, and looked piteously 
into her face. She was like one transfixed. She 
did not answer for some moments. 

“Yes, Marion — I am convinced. I have looked 
upon the memory picture. I saw the living 
chid— his child, another Nellie with red-brown 


202 


THE ONE MAN 


hair and strange blue eyes. And the name 

Ah, it was the very name he whisp.ered on that 
day, — the day he died — ’’ 

She said no more; she only clasped her hands 
and then pressed them against her heart over the 
tiny cross of gold. 

‘‘0 Holy Mother of God!’’ she cried, ‘‘Thou 
who knowest the hearts of womankind, extend 
thy pity, thy mercy even unto me. Keep in thy 
care my heart, the heart I gave unto thy keeping 
in the long ago — and help me — 0 help me lest in 
this wilderness I be tempted to die — ” 

She looked out again upon the distant waters 
and then down into the depths beneath her feet, 
and then she turned to the woman beside her: 

“0 Marion — the water is so calm — it is so quiet 
and peaceful — ” 

The woman clasped her arms around her, and 
in another instant her tears fell like April rain. 
An hour passed and then she pressed her handker- 
chief to her eyes for the last time. Her brain 
cleared and she rose and said: 

“No, I must not die. And there shall be no 
more sin. I will live, and through my life atone- 
ment shall come.” 

The moon shone on. The waters splashed 
against the rushes at their feet. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


The morning dawned. Another night set in. On 
the morrow the party would leave the wilderness 
and return to the little village down the river. 

At the solicitations of Nellie’s mother, Mar- 
garet had remained in bed all day. She tried to 
rest, to sleep; but neither came to her. Even the 
prayers which came to her lips through these long 
silent hours brought no comfort. She tossed rest- 
lessly upon her rude couch. She anxiously awaited 
the coming morning. It was activity not rest which 
she needed. 

Two days later found them at Marion’s home in 
the lumber town below, where together the two 
women reviewed the incidents of the last few days, 
and discussed the best plan of returning to this un- 
fortunate squaw and her child their rightful inher- 
itance. It would take some time to know the de- 
tails, and there must be proof — ^not only of the 
theft — but of the real amount to be returned. 

Marion paused a moment during the conversa- 
tion. ^‘There is a French Canadian priest not far 
from here. He was for many years a missionary 
among the Indians. He knows their secrets. From 
him you may get some information. You are a 
Catholic. Go to him, Margaret, and tell him every- 
thing. You can trust this man.” 

The next morning found her well on the way 
towards the quaint French town which for many 
years had been the home of the old priest. 

She reached the house before midday and when 
she alighted from her carriage she looked around 


204 


THE ONE MAN 


at the primitive and illy constructed homes com- 
posing' the settlement. The street, apparently the 
only one, — seemed strangely desolate. She looked 
again. It stretched in a curve down to the bank of 
a beautiful river. 

She was impressed with the loneliness of the lo- 
cality. She thought of the sacrifices, the endur- 
ances which these men of God took upon themselves 
that humanity everywhere might know the truth of 
the soul’s salvation and receive the comforts and 
blessings of her Holy Church. 

It was in some place like this that Herbert was 
living out his life. 

She turned quickly and rapped upon the weather- 
worn door before her. While awaiting a response, 
she perceived a man hurry down the street and 
enter one of the lowliest and most dilapidated of 
the dwellings. So low its doorway, that she saw 
him stoop to enter. 

A moment later she was addressing a woman of 
mature years who stood in the now opened door- 
way. 

Yes, the Father was at home, but he was ill. 
She spoke in broken patois. 

Margaret at once addressed her in French, and 
told her that her mission was an important one; a 
personal^ one ; and that, if it would not incur dan- 
ger to his life, she must see him. 

The woman asked her in and offered her a chair 
in the little parlor which opened directly from the 
street. After what seemed an exceedingly pro- 
longed wait, the door at the rear of the room 
opened and she was motioned to enter. 


THE ONE MAN 


205 


Shambling towards her as she entered the low- 
ceiled apartment, the old priest, bent and decrepit, 
reached out his welcoming hand. He motioned her 
to a nearby chair and took one himself, smoothing 
out his faded black cassock as he hitched back 
into an easy position. 

From under his long, bushy eyebrows he flashed 
upon her the sharpness of a pair of beady, black 
eyes. His straight, black hair had no touch of 
gray. His smooth face, high cheek bones, and oth- 
erwise strong prominent features strikingly be- 
spoke the mixture of two familiar races. 

For a moment she grew faint. She was im- 
pressed that this man, to whom she was about to 
tell the terrible secrets of her husband’s perfidy, 
although attired in the garb of civilization, and in 
voice and every appearance, indicated the refine- 
ment of the scholar and the gentleman, bore upon 
his countenance a striking resemblance to the 
squaw, Minneluska. 

She recovered herself instantly. The work be- 
fore her was not that of a coward or a weakling. 
She was sure that this man would be able 
to help her, — tell her perhaps more than she cared 
to know. 

She tried to speak but could not find the words. 
He noticed what seemed to him an embarrassment 
and kindly said: 

''My daughter, are you in trouble?” 

His voice, so gentle, so perfectly modulated, so 
charged with its quaint French accent gave her 
renewed strength. 

"Yes, Father, and I have come to you, — not 


206 


THE ONE MAN 


for confession and advice as you may suppose, — 
but for information. — 

He looked at her sharply and inquiringly. 

‘'Yes, for information — personal information. 
Such as may help me to a better understanding of 
my duties.’’ She hesitated, — “Ah, no; — not a bet- 
ter understanding of them, — ^but to enable me to 
better execute them.” 

He leaned forward and assumed an attitude of 
listening. She seemed excited. Her face was 
flushing red. 

“I am listening, daughter. Ask me what you 
will,” he said. 

He was interested. For years he had listened 
only to recitations of sin and sorrow, to the com- 
plaints and petty troubles of red men, half-breeds, 
and the simple folk of this isolated region. For 
the very first time in all his life, he was alone with 
a woman of the world. A woman dressed in a 
manner indicating wealth. A beautiful woman 
with hair reminding him of sunshine; and withal a 
sweet and honest face. And he wondered why she 
had come to him, an obscure priest in this lonely 
place to seek for information. 

In the hour which followed, she told him the 
story of her marriage with Judson Patmore, and of 
the results of sin and shame with which she was 
confronted. She told him of the hope she enter- 
tained, that he might be able to tell her something 
of this Indian wife, — and help her in the investi- 
gations she was about to make. 

When she had finished he seemed unable to 
speak. She noticed that he was shaking visibly. 


THE ONE MAN 


207 


Had she wearied him with her long recital, or 
was he agitated with the awfulness of such human 
depravity ? 

How strange, she thought, that he did not speak. 
She asked him if he was ill ; and if she should not 
call the housekeeper. She regretted the interview 
if it affected him thus. 

He shook his head, and with a motion of his 
hand, he bade her stay. After a few moments, he 
rose and leaning heavily upon his cane, he tottered 
across the floor and sat down in front of an old 
black walnut writing desk. He opened it and un- 
locked an inner compartment. He drew therefrom 
an old book, bound with faded brown leather. As 
he turned the pages one by one, Margaret saw that 
it was an ancient Bible. 

At last he found the page for which he had 
looked. He called her to his side. 

^‘Kead,’’ he said, in the French tongue. ‘‘You 
can, for I heard you address my housekeeper.’’ 

“Yes,” she replied, as she took the book from his 
trembling hands. 

It was a record of births and deaths. The pages 
were yellow. The ink marks were brown and 
faded; but despite that and the peculiar penman- 
ship, she read aloud: 

“Born. — To Natal je and Jean Le Moyne, a 
daughter, name, Minneluska.” 

She read no further. She clasped the edges of 
the old book tightly together and looked into his 
face. 

“Father . . . you know this woman!” 

He looked up into her face and convulsively 


208 


THE ONE MAN 


clasping his shrunken, yellow palms together, he 
cried : 

“Know her, daughter? Minncluska Le Moyne 
Patmore is my sister!'’ 

Margaret paled under his agitation. She thought 
the interview would kill him. 

He spoke again. “Yes, daughter, my sister! We 
had the same mother. She was an Indian woman 
— a squaw !" 

He had taken the book from her hands. He was 
peering intently upon a preceding page. Then in 
a calm voice he read one after another of the 
records it contained. 

Margaret had taken a chair nearer him. He 
would tell her the story of his life. 

“A different father. Both French Canadians. I 
was the first born. When I was nine years old, 
Minneluska was born and our mother was deserted 
by her half-breed husband for a white woman. In 
her agony she fled one night into the forest carry- 
ing her child with her. There was but little search 
for they thought her dead and all the better for 
the new family, if she were never found. I had 
been placed in a boys' school in Canada four weeks 
before her flight and for over a year did not know 
that she had gone. It was decided that I remain ill 
school and later be educated for the priesthood. 
For twelve long years I was as one dead to the 
world and for twelve more pursued the necessary 
studies for my life work. With my heart broken 
over my father's perfidy, I decided that it should 
be a part of my life work to find my loved ones 
and restore to them the happiness at least of know- 


THE ONE MAN 


209 


ing that I loved them and would care for them al- 
ways. My father died the year of my admission 
to the priesthood and that year I was sent as a mis- 
sionary to the Indians of the Northwest. It was 
the location I wanted. It would better enable me 
to find my lost ones, or if not that, at least to get 
a clue to their existence or death. 

‘Tor years,’’ he said at length, “my inquiries and 
my search was in vain. Then I was resummoned 
to Canada. I found my father’s estate still unset- 
tled and the white wife clamoring for her portion. 
The usual proceedings were instituted and the final 
settlements to be made, when there came one day 
a man to the village, claiming to be the husband of 
my sister. He brought evidence that she was dead 
and that there was a daughter. He produced a 
will. It was signed, Minneluska Le Moyne Laf- 
flin. With it were certificates of their marriage 
and of her death. He also presented affidavits of 
my mother’s death, and my father’s estate was di- 
vided with him, for the child.” 

For some moments the old priest seemed to suf- 
fer a difficulty in breathing. He grew suddenly 
pale and trembled violently. Margaret gave him 
some water from a nearby urn and in a few mo- 
ments he was calm and himself again. 

He turned his eyes heavenward. He was utter- 
ing a prayer. When he looked again into her face 
a resigned expression had taken the place of one 
indicating revenge. 

“And this is God’s way. It is a better way than 
mine would have been had I, in my younger man- 
hood, known of this man’s perfidy.” 


210 


THE ONE MAN 


He pressed his hand tenderly upon her head. It 
had fallen low ag'ainst his knees. She was weeping. 
In her sympathy for his sorrows she had forgot- 
ten her own. She sobbed out the misery of the 
hour. 

Again she heard his voice. It breathed of still 
another prayer. It was one for the sons of men. 
It implored forgiveness for all — even for Judson 
Patmore. 

She started as his name was spoken. He rose 
and gave indication that the interview was nearing 
the end. 

‘^Rise, daughter/’ he said. forth to your 
duties. Remember that my blessing and that of Al- 
mighty God is ever with thee. Forget not, child, 
that thou art a daughter of the Church. Forget 
not to pray ! It is the instinctive cry of the human 
soul. It will bring the spirit of the living God, of 
the Holy Mother to your aid. It will save you — 
even in the hours of your keenest temptation, if 
you will cry to Him you will not fail.” 

He was thinking of the difficulties which would 
probably assail this young woman who had re- 
solved to give up her entire fortune if necessary 
to these unfortunate ones. He knew of the sacrifice, 
and also that she would be tempted to relinquish 
the idea. He knew how selfish the world had be- 
come even in the face of religious teachings. 

She rose and looked into his face. 

‘‘You shall have the complete records. I will 
send them to you. Leave me your address and 
within a fortnight you shall have every detail per- 


THE ONE MAN 


211 


taining to the case. I will wire my Canadian so- 
licitors to forward me the papers you require.” 

He reached for the black bordered card she held 
towards him. She expressed her thankfulness and 
said farewell He clasped her hand fervently and 
with bowed head he retreated to his inner chamber. 

'Toor unhappy one!” he murmured, as he threw 
himself upon a couch for rest. ‘‘Simply another 
victim of false social standards. She has sinned 
against our Holy Church ; but, — withal, she has my 
pity and shall have my prayers.” 

He sighed and rang the bell for his housekeeper 
to bring him tea. She came and gave him slight 
reproof for such overtaxation of strength. He 
drank it in silence and bade her leave him alone. 

An hour after she had gone out she heard him 
speak. She gently tiptoed to the door. He was 
not calling her. He was talking to himself. She 
listened stealthily and this was what she heard : 

“God's word may siometime enlighten society. 
Men may sometimes know that in the teachings 
of our Holy Church are found such ethics as will 
make for the happiness of the whole world. Stren- 
uous has been the struggle for such recognition; 
but only upon her teachings can society build the 
perfect home.” 

The woman heard no more. Surely she thought 
such musings must have been prompted by the in- 
terview with the beautiful women whom she had 
admitted to his presence that morning. 

He folded his hands across his breast and closing 
his eyes fell into a restful sleep. He was ex- 
hausted. 


212 


THE ONE MAN 


An hour later be rose from his couch and walked 
over to a window looking towards the west. From 
it he watched the sun slowly sinking down the red 
autumn sky. 

He peered around an almost leafless maple until 
his eyes rested more to the northwest. A scowl 
came across his brow, an ugly frown over his face, 
and for an instant his eyes flashed out a murderous 
revenge. 

He clenched his hand as if to strike an invisible 
foe. ^ But a moment later, the terrible emotion had 
subsided. It was another struggle between the nat- 
ural instinct of man and his better nature. 

A moment later his face softened and slowly be- 
came illumined with a holy expression indicating 
love and forgiveness. 

He sank down into a nearby chair, and covering 
his face with his bands, he uttered the words of 
the Master: 

'‘Father, forgive them; for they know not what 
they do.’’ 


CHAPTER XX. 

More than a fortnight had passed and Margaret 
was anxiously awaiting the promised records. 

She was desirous of reaching New York as soon 
as possible. Fredrika had written of her father’s 
failing health and Koette had been sent ahead. She 
was alone in the Northwest capital city. 


THE ONE MAN 


213 


The afternoon was chilly and she had drawn the 
little writing table close to the grate. She was 
sealing her last letter when a tap came upon the 
door. 

‘‘Ah, it is the records ! They have come at last 
she said to herself, as she hastened to open the 
door. 

The messenger bowed. 

“A gentleman awaits your command for the de- 
livery of an important package. It is to be deliv- 
ered in person to the occupant of this suite.” 

Her anxiety was for the moment forgotten. She 
was amused and impressed with the well placed, 
well remembered words and the stereotyped man- 
ner in which this boy of fourteen years delivered 
the message. He had evidently tried to repeat it, 
as nearly as possible in the language which the gen- 
tleman had used. 

“I am awaiting them at this moment,” she was 
saying an instant later. “Show him the way at 
once.” 

The boy ran hurriedly upon his errand and Mar- 
garet turned and walked back into her apartments. 

“Oh, I am so glad,” she said half aloud. “Now 
I can go home to Fredrika and those I love. She 
will help me. Together we will plan everything 
and soon all these terrible wrongs will be righted.” 

Impatiently she walked up and down the room. 
When she heard the approaching footsteps, she ran 
to the door, opening it before they were half way 
down the corridor. 

She reached for the package as they came near 
the door, but an instant later she stepped back for 


214 


THE ONE MAN 


the man was saying: ‘Tardon, but I must have 
proof that you are the person to whom this is ad- 
dressed; your signature also is required for its re- 
ceipt/’ 

He stepped inside at her request, and at once 
she recognized him as the man whom she had seen 
enter the shack in the alley on the day of her visit 
to the French priest. 

She looked at the package in his hand and noticed 

that instead of her own that Father ’s name 

together with his address was written thereupon, — 
while upon the sealed envelope which he handed 
her was her suite number, and her address. Her 
name appeared nowhere. She tore it open and in 
senile ehirography she read her name upon an inner 
page. 

'‘It is my name,” she said, and without looking 
up she walked over to a small desk and taking up 
a sheet of black bordered paper, she sat down 
and wrote her acknowledgment of the package, 
then rose and handed it to the man in waiting. 

He gave her the package and for the first time 
she looked up into his face. She thanked him for 
his painstaking kindness and begged that he would 
convey her sincere appreciation and thanks to the 
old Father. She thought his voice and bearing 
strikingly familiar. She was sure that she had 
known some one like him. 

When he turned to go his eyeglasses fell to the 
floor. She hastened to pick them up, and as she 
handed them to him their eyes met. 

The recognition was mutual. It was Herbert 
Von Hoffman, and he was addressing her as Mar- 


THE ONE MAN 


215 


garet. He had known from the first who she was ; 
but she had not recognized him. He hoped that 
she would not. It would be better for them both. 

For some moments she could not speak. She 
only looked at his smooth shaven face; his sad- 
dened eyes ; his rapidly whitening hair. 

He came nearer and reached forth his hand. “No, 
you are not mistaken, Margaret. It is Herbert.’’ 

He closed the door after dismissing the boy ; and 
then she answered in subdued tones. “Yes, I know 
you. — How glad — •” 

She did not finish the sentence, and for some time 
neither spoke, then as if recollecting himself he 
led her to a nearby chair and took one himself. 

They talked in monosyllables for a few minutes; 
of home; of Fredrika; and then of his professional 
work. Finally, he rose to go and Margaret ad- 
dressed him as “Doctor.” 

The strain had been too great, and when he 
heard himself called “Doctor” by her, he fell under 
the rising natural impulse and cried: 

“Oh, Margaret, do not call me Doctor. Call me 
Herbert, — friend, anything, but that from you.” 

She stared at him. Was it possible that the temp- 
tation of her life, — the supreme temptation for both 
of them was at hand? 

He came closer and in pityingly, tender tones, 
was saying: “Can you not call me Herbert, Mar- 
garet ?” 

She could not answer him. Her heart had al- 
most ceased to beat. 

Again he was bending over her. Again he re- 
peated the words: “Can you not call me Herbert? 


216 


THE ONE MAN 


Oh, Margaret, say it once more. — You surely have 
not fogotten, Margaret?’’ 

No, she had not forgotten; neither the past, nor 
the fact that he was now a married man. She 
stepped back from him and withdrew her hand 
from his grasp. Her face was like marble; her 
manner calm and self-possessed. He had no right 
to recall the past. And he did not realize his dan- 
ger. She would save him; — save him because she 
loved him. The sacrifice was supreme but it must 
be made. 

A moment later he was kneeling at her feet, 
weeping out the love which he had so effectually 
subdued through all the years. She pitied him, 
yet she said no word ; but stood silently through the 
demonstration as if she were an inanimate statue 
of marble. Upon her face there could be seen no 
trace of emotion, not even that of pity for the suf- 
fering of this man, who in the old days had so 
fondly loved her. She let him weep on in silence 
and when his sobs grew less she bent down and 
placed her hand upon his head. 

^‘Herbert, rise. It is only a short time since I 
read of your marriage.” He replied instantly. 
‘'Yes, but there is a separation — ” 

Again she spoke: “Herbert, I implore you to 
rise.” 

Still he moved not. And in that moment a pan- 
orama of faces rose before her, the faces of Jud- 
son Patmore’s wives and children, and then half 
aloud, she leaned over and said : “Separation. — Di- 
vorce ! — Misery ! — Death ! — Yes, Herbert, better 
death than this.” 


THE ONE MAN 


217 


Margaret, I do not love her/’ 

‘‘Ah, but your promise: Ho love and protect — 
until — death, us — do — part.’ ” 

'‘Yes, but, Margaret, you do not know, — ” His 
words were pitiful. They reached into the very 
depths of her soul. Her heart was bleeding with 
sorrow, for she felt the agony behind them. She 
tried to speak but words failed her. 

Again he pleaded; and in her heart, she was 
calling upon God to help her. It was a supreme 
effort, but at last she said in a voice which for the 
moment sounded strange even to her own ears : 

“Rise. I command you. You shall no longer 
kneel at my feet ! You are a married man !” 

He seemed stung with the rebuke. He rose to 
his feet and looked well into her face. She had 
won a victory, for she well knew that to the Von 
Hoffman pride such a thrust would be effectual. 
She also thought that she understood the Von Hoff- 
man nature, and that remorse for such forgetful- 
ness would be overwhelmingly humiliating. 

But she was mistaken. 

She saw his brow darken with what she thought 
was anger. She was glad. And then a look came 
over her face like the despair of the dying. It 
stung her, for it reflected the bitterness of her own 
words, and she pitied him. 

He turned away and with bowed head walked 
towards the grate. His body shook with the agony 
of his mistakes; and then she wondered how she 
could have been so cruel to him. She would ask 
pardon ; — she would say that she was sorry for him. 
She followed him and laid her hand upon his arm: 


218 


THE ONE MAN 


‘^Herbert, it was unkind. I will call you friend 
— brother; and you may call me Margaret.'' He 
did not look up; he only bowed his head upon his 
hands. 

She talked on. 

‘^But you must remember that neither you nor I 
are the same ; — names change their significance ac- 
cording to time and circumstances." She looked 
down upon his bowed head. Her mind was full 
of conflicting thoughts. Her heart beat violently — 
strangely, against her breast. 

Oh, how easy it would be to say the word which 
at this moment, would bring her the love she had 
craved through all the years. And had she not 
longed for this hour to come — an hour when he 
would again declare his love for her. And now 
it was here, but with it the barrier of his own mar- 
riage vow. And she must help him keep it. For 
it was given like her own, in His name. And yet, 
what an ordeal. To sacriflce his love. To sink 
her own heart, — for him, for the Church — for God. 

Her brain was on Are. Again she was a woman 
of the world. Her blood leaped into a quick re- 
sponse. Her heart throbbed impulsively. No, she 
could not do it. She would not make the sacri- 
fice. Religion? What was it anyway? Had not 
Fredrika said it was man-made and that God was 
only an ideal? And too, she loved him so; loved 
him more than she loved life or even the prospect 
of an eternal hereafter. With his love would not 
earth be a heaven? And the world, — what would 
it care? Had not the world ruined her life 
always ? She took one step towards him. 


THE ONE MAN 


219 


But a moment later she was sobbing at his feet. 

He raised his head. He bent over her tenderly. 
He was saying: “At last, — Margaret — my Mar- 
garet.’' 

She stayed the hand that sought to raise her face. 
“Oh, Herbert, do not speak ; — and do not touch me. 
Just pity me as I have pitied you.” 

“Margaret, are you mad? — Oh, God, what fate 
is this?” 

“No. N6,” she cried. A prayer was on her lips. 
She recalled the words of the old Father, “Even in 
the hour of danger — .” 

And it saved her. For in another instant, she 
had arisen to her feet. She brushed the tears away. 
And yet in her eyes there was a troubled stare; 
across her face a look of bewilderment and shame ; 
and her heart for the moment seemed to stand still. 
“Herbert.” She was able to speak at last. 

“Again I beg that you will not forget ” 

He rose and with folded arms was now standing 
before her. “I have forgotten nothing,” he said. 

She contemplated his attitude for a moment. She 
was faint with her own weakness. She wondered 
if she could resist him — his love ? 

Not unless God would help her. 

Again the words of the old priest came to her. 
“Forget not that thou art a daughter of the Church. 
Pray; and strength such as thou knowest not of 
will sustain thee forever.” 

Daughter of the Church ! And this holy man 
had pitied her. Had in his own heart absolved her 
from the one sin of her life against it. And she 
would not fail again. 


220 


THE ONE MAN 


For an instant a strange light seemed to fill the 
room. Again, as upon that night in the old Von 
Holfman mansion, the Virgin seemed to be bend- 
ing over her. She reached forth her hand ; it was 
so real; and she tried to pray. But she was fright- 
ened ; the room was turning as black as night. 

She thought she had fainted. But she knew she 
had not, for the man she loved was still standing 
before her. And he was still pleading, — passion- 
ately, earnestly : ‘‘Margaret. . . . My own — ^my 
precious Margaret. — ’’ 

She looked at him reprovingly. She pushed 
him away, but he kept on — ^urging her to be her- 
self; and to no longer live a lie. 

There was a long silence. She knew that he had 
spoken some truths; and she knew that in a way 
she had tempted him. Knew that she had forgotten 
and looked into his eyes ; forgotten and trembled in 
her weakness — in her love for him. 

She pressed her hand against her heart. The 
consciousness of another sin came over her. Surely 
no woman had greater temptation. And this was 
a sin for which gold would not atone. 

She thought a moment. Yes, her atonement 
should be that of having this man, this man whom 
she loved better than all the world beside — save him 
for himself, save him to his wife and child. 

There was no longer danger for either of them. 
His salvation was at hand. He should return to 
his family that very day. 

She took a chair near him and began to talk 
frankly. But he would not let her speak. “Mar- 
garet,’' he said, as he leaned slightly towards her. 


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221 


^‘This is not right. It is my desire and my privi- 
lege to secure a divorce from my wife. I have 
grounds: — ^we are incompatible.’' 

She shuddered at the word. She had heard it 
before. 

He went on : ^‘And I am not deserting her. She 
will take my money and the freedom which goes 
with it and give me my own. And then — and then, 
Margaret, there will be no more sin. We can atone 
for this hour of thoughtlessness — and in the coming 
years — when I am free, I will come to you. To- 
gether we will go to other lands — and unknown, 
save to God and ourselves, live and die together. 
Oh, let us do this, Margaret. — It shall be the sacri- 
fice of love.” 

Her fingers quivered with excitement. As he 
had spoken he lightly pressed his hand upon hers — 
the one lying on the arm of the chair. Never be- 
fore had she felt such an impulse of love for him. 
Under — other — skies — to live — and — die with — 
him ! 

Again he spoke. His voice was full and tender. 
Its tones and his look crept into her soul. 

‘"Margaret?” He waited long for her to answer 
him. Yes, and he spoke her name with the same 
tenderness as upon that night so long ago. Once 
more her life stood out in panoramic vision; and 
what a failure it had been ! The color rose to her 
cheeks. She would be lost; all would be lost if 
she did not speak. 

She opened her lips but the words would not 
come. She made another effort, but a prayer came 
into her soul instead; and its cry reached \he very 
gates of heaven. 


222 


THE ONE MAN 


His hand was tightening upon hers. He bent as 
if to kiss her brow. He was still pleading with 
her ; still calling her Margaret. 

She wrenched her hand away. ''Do not speak. 
Do not call me Margaret; and do not tempt me. 
Listen and let me tell you of my life. Of Judson 
Patmore’s life — a divorced man’s life! And when 
you have heard it perhaps you will pity me and 
help me to be strong and true. — It may help you 
to be strong and true. Faithful until death to this 
woman who is your wife; to the little child which 
is bone of your bone, and flesh of your flesh.” 

He started back. What could she mean? 

She buried her face in her hands and for some 
time wept out the agony in her heart, and when it 
was over she looked calmly into his face, pressed 
her hands over his, and in the stillness of the hour 
— the hour of her greatest temptation, she told him 
all. 

He felt the iciness of her touch when she took 
her hands from his. He leaned back in his chair 
and pressed his hands over his heart to be certain 
of its beating. Ah, yes, it must be, for its impulse 
was throbbing through his soul. 

Margaret still talked on. She told him of her 
plans, pausing now and then for an indication of his 
approval. Suddenly, she observed that his brow 
darkened. Was he angry or was it possible that 
she was to experience another struggle? Had he 
even now no pity for her? 

Finally, as if reading her thoughts, he said: 
"Margaret, there is nothing dishonorable in divorce ; 
and furthermore, I have done no wrong, such as 


THE ONE MAN 


223 


you relate of Judson Patmore. My wife and child 
will be cared for, and it is better for them — espe- 
cially my wife, that vows such as mine be broken. 
It looks the honorable thing, Margaret, and if you 
love me, you will help me. Go forward in your 
work. Carry out every plan. Take, if you will a 
part of my fortune to reimburse these unforunate 
ones if in your own there is not enough ; and then 
when it is all over, — after my divorce and your 
just settlement let me come to you. Love such as 
ours should not be crucified forever. I know that 
I was a weakling, — a fool, but will you not now 
help me to rise to a higher manhood?” 

He leaned forward for an answer. 

^ She had raised her eyes. She dared not look at 
him. Again he entreated; and still she spoke no 
word. 

''Answer, Margaret. Why will you not speak?” 

But still no answer. She was thinking how he 
had changed. How manly he seemed, — and his ar- 
gument — how reasonable it was. No, he really had 
not sinned as had Judson Patmore. 

With an uncontrolable impulse he rose and 
grasped her hand. "Think, Margaret, of the long 
years in which you sacrificed yourself — your life, 
your love. Think of the long deaths — the hell into 
which my false pride, — ^my damnable pride forced 
you. Is it not imperative that I sacrifice every- 
thing for you?” 

And yet no answer. 

He went on : "To live with my wife after this 
hour is a sin against her. God does not ask it. 
Men do not want such as I in their midst, — a man 


224 


THE ONE MAN 


with an unconquerable love for another — not his 
wife — in his heart.” 

He had released her hand as impulsively as he had 
taken it. He clinched his own and walked rapidly 
down the room. 

‘‘No,” he cried, as he came close to her again; 
‘ ‘ and I will not do it. Men shall know the truth. I 
shall divorce my wife. My soul shall be free at 
last.’’ 

He flung himself at her knees. “Free to love 
you, Margaret. — My only love, — ^my precious Mar- 
garet. — 

Again he stood before her. He entreated her 
for a favorable answer. Her lips moved. Her 
eyes were illumined with love. 

“My own. My life,” he cried exultantly, and 
stepped forward to embrace her. 

She put forth her hand to stay him and the ges- 
ture told him that he had mistaken her emotion. 

“Pride — ambition — ^honor. It is ended. Upon 
this last rock, honor, we must sink our drifting 
hearts.” 

She paused and placed her hand upon her heart. 
“Yes, it is imperative. I feel it here !” 

In his agitation and frenzy, he pressed his hand 
against his brow. He was overwhelmed with de- 
spair, for he was stung to the quick with a reali- 
zation of his dishonor. Hitherto, he had never 
known a woman’s heart, a woman’s pride, a wo- 
man’s sense of honor. 

And now she pitied him, and stooped to bid him 
rise. She told him over and over again that it was 
best. She told him how she had risen to this 


THE ONE MAN 


225 


higher womanhood from her experience. That she 
had been thoughtless and weak through pride and 
ambition, and that now they should both live the 
higher life from that experience. She looked into 
his face and felt that his temptation was over. 

''Margaret. Be merciful,’’ he pleaded. "For- 
give, even as He forgives.” 

Her eyes filled with tears, and tremulously came 
forth the answer: "Exhaustless as the ocean is the 
mercy of my soul. And my forgiveness, — yes, Her- 
bert, even as He forgives, so do I forgive.” 

The silence was profound. The golden clock on 
the mantel ticked out the moments of the hour. 
She meant well, but she had spoken tenderly; she 
had called him Herbert, as in the long ago. It was 
her desire that he go from her without another 
sting of pain. She was trying in that forgiveness to 
soothe him, to calm and adjust the soul’s despair. 

He felt it, and with her tenderness there was 
aroused in him a reawakened passion; and a more 
intense desire than ever to possess her came into 
his heart. In an instant it had overwhelmed his 
soul and he had renewed his solicitations. He 
thought her never so beautiful. He never loved 
her as in this moment. 

"Oh, Margaret, my precious Margaret.” It was 
a crisis in the madness of his infatuation. 

She started for she knew that the moment had 
come when she must end it all. It was the supreme 
hour of temptation. She seemed chained in her 
misery. Her voice was frozen within her. 

A moment of silence intervened, and then, as if 
from heaven, came an impulse, and a mighty flood 


226 


THE ONE MAN 


of indignation filled her soul. She dashed his hands 
away and in her eyes there came a look he had 
never seen before. It was blank, insane, inhuman. 

He turned pale under it and grasped the arm of 
a nearby chair. 

At last her white lips parted with a strange smile. 
‘‘Silence,'' she cried entreatingly. “Oh, will you not 
have mercy? Herbert Yon Hoffman, will you not 
be merciful to me?" 

For a moment she felt that she could not stand. 
I cannot : I cannot : was the cry throughout her soul, 
and then there came a flood of thought, like the 
surging of an angry sea. It stimulated her and 
gave her the strength to speak. 

“Speak not of this again," she calmly said : “And 
also take another vow, and die ere it be broken." 

A chill ran through him like the cold of death. 
He turned towards her. He thought how hard and 
pitiless her voice, how little like the merry, tender 
tones of other days. 

She had lost all color as she spoke, and was 
even paler as she advanced closer to him. 

‘ ‘ Oh, promise me now ! ’ ' Her breath came and 
went with excitement. “Yes, promise me that until 
death parts you, you will live with Mary Von Hoff- 
man. — That never, until death parts you will you 
speak of love to another, even to me." 

He stepped forward and grasped her hands. 
Again he looked well into her face. From her 
eyes the light of love was dead. There was no 
sign of expression on her lips. 

“Margaret, be merciful. I cannot and will not 
promise this." In a moment she had drawn a dia- 


THE ONE MAN 


227 


mond crucifix from beneath the silken folds of her 
dress. It was a priceless thing; a gift from Judson 
Patmore. 

She held it up before him, and again repeated 
the words: 

‘^Promise me! I implore you! Promise me!^’ 

His brow contracted. He felt impelled to strike 
it from her hand. Judson Patmore’s gift. A jeal- 
ousy hitherto unknown came into his heart. He 
thought she was trifling with him, and he would no 
longer be a fool, a weakling. He would sacrifice 
everything and win her at any cost. She had as- 
sumed to punish him ; to test his sincerity. 

Judson Patmore! He clenched his hands upon 
the back of the chair. He felt a strange sen- 
sation pass through his soul. His head throbbed 
with pain, as the bitterness of the old days came 
back to him. How he had suffered on the day 
of her marriage. And then there came to him her 
pitiful confession. The endurance of Judson Pat- 
more ; his caresses ; his abhorrent, senile devotion ; 

in the hope . And then her suffering when 

she had learned of his marriage. 

A sickening spasm of pain came over him. No 
wonder she was mad. No wonder that her reason 
had fled. No wonder that she smiled no more, or 
that the light of youth had gone out of her life. 

She saw the anguish upon his face. She could 
not bear to have him suffer pain, and impulsively 
she took one step towards him. He must go, out 
from her presence forever. 

^Tromise me. Herbert! In His name, promise 
me!” She held the crucifix before him. The 


228 


THE ONE MAN 


words fell pleadingly from her lips. Ah, yes, he 
would promise her at last and then it would all be 
over. 

But his countenance fell instead. His face dark- 
ened with the pain. He said : 

'' No, I will not promise you. You, and you only 
shall be my wife.” 

She felt an inner start, and suddenly as if filled 
with a superhuman strength she advanced still 
closer to him. She held the crucifix before his face. 

''Silence, forevermore,’’ she cried: "In His holy 
name, I command you to promise me.” 

His face was white. He stood before her and 
looked deeply into her eyes. But there was no 
sign, pity even, was no longer there. 

Again and again, he repeated her name, but no 
word came from her lips. He knew that she was 
in earnest. 

The mist had fallen from his eyes, and for the 
first time he realized that he was a married man. 
For the first time he was conscious of the insult 
which he had thoughtlessly thrust upon her. For 
the first time he understood the character of this 
woman, this noble daughter of the Church, who 
through her religious ideals had stayed his and her 
own destruction. He turned to go. It was like a 
death sentence to go out of her p^resence. He 
paused a moment on the threshold and looked back. 
Ah, he would look once more upon her face. 

She was standing motionless. Her eyes were 
heavenward. The crucifix was still in her hand 
and both were pressed against her heart. 

Ah, how beautiful she was. A ray of the deep 


THE ONE MAN 


229 


harvest moon had crept in through the window. 
It formed a halo, indescribable in color, above the 
masses of her golden hair. 

He wondered if it was worth the while to live. 
In that moment he felt that life itself could well 
be sacrificed for love. 

He felt that he should promise her; but in that 
moment he dared not go back. The struggle of 
self abasement and mad desire was not yet finished. 
He knew that he could not speak to her agjain. 

Like a blind man he staggered out of the room 
and through the hotel corridors down into the street, 
scarcely knowing whither he was going. 

He breathed at last the crisp autumn air. He 
seemed conscious that men and women were pass- 
ing here and there. 

The twilight of the fading day had settled well 
into the night. The train upon which he was a 
passenger was hurrying onward to the West. He 
heard the name of a familiar station called. He 
stepped to the platform and started upon his way 
across the bleak prairie to his village home. 

The moon had set. The night was dark and the 
path was rough and long. He felt strangely weak, 
and paused to lookup into the sky. Here and there 
a tiny star was trying to light the darkened night; 
and high above his head a cloud-like mass was 
spreading to the very earth. 

He sat down upon the trunk of an old prostrate 
tree. He felt no fear. He watched the strange phe- 
nomenon, as it lifted itself higher and higher into 
the vault of heaven. Suddenly, it had dispersed, 
and in its place he was conscious that an angeks 


230 


THE ONE MAN 


face was looking down into his own. He seemed 
to hear some words. He listened intently. Plead- 
ingly they came down unto his ear. It was her 
voice. And the words ! — Promise me, Oh, promise 
me. 

It was enough. He fell upon his knees and 
breathed a prayer of repentance, of resignation. He 
fell asleep and in his dream he said to her : “Mar- 
garet, I promise. In His name, I promise you.^’ 

No one, not even he, himself, knew how long 
he had slept in that desolate spot; but when he 
at last reached the little hamlet it was long past mid- 
day. His temptaion was at an end. He would go 
to his wife and live with her for the sake of their 
child — his child. 

But what of Margaret? 

For a few moments after he had gone she stood 
like one transfixed; and then pressing both her 
hands against her head she fell to the floor crying: 
“I love him. Oh, Holy Mother of God, thou know- 
est that I shall love him forever, — ’’ 

The morning dawned like many another in her 
life. She awoke to find that she had slept all the 
night through on the velvet rug upon which she had 
fallen. But what of that? For she had dreamed 
that she heard his voice again, and that he had said 
to her : ‘‘Margaret, I promise. In His name, I 
promise you.’’ 


CHAPTER XXL 


Let us not forget Fredrika; for upon the day 
which brought temptation, bitterness and sorrow to 
those she loved, life’s full measure had its begin- 
ning for her. For more than an hour this day she 
had sat at the foot of the old stone terrace. The 
ampelopsis which covered it was beautifully tinted 
with red and the maples were richly golden in their 
coloring, like her heart at the closing of the year. 

She had developed into a beautiful woman ; and 
upon that morning she was a picture, such as an 
artist would speak of as a study in brown. Brown 
eyes and hair, olive skin, and attired in a brown 
velvet gown with a Grecian girdle of gold hanging 
to its very hem. 

With its terminal fringe a beautiful spaniel was 
playing — a young Cocker which her aunt had 
brought from Canada the month before. He, too, 
was brown — a reddish brown — "'like unto the chest- 
nut burr when it divides four-fold to show the 
fruit within.” 

"I wonder why this delay?” she said half aloud. 
Her aunt who had been in ill health for some time 
had suffered a serious relapse and a physician had 
been sent for fully two hours before. She rose 
and walked ^ towards the house and when she 
reached the top of the steps the dog was already 
there caressing and pulling at her gown as she 
passed before him. She bent down and lovingly 
stroked his long ears, and calling him after her. 


232 


THE ONE MAN 


she walked into the parlor and took up a book she 
had been reading. 

In a few moments she heard the clatter of a 
horse and carriage upon the graveled drive. In 
another instant it had stopped and the physician 
jumped out and ran hurriedly up to the door. 
Fredrika opened it and greeted him cordially. He 
immediately placed his hat upon the hall table and 
hastened up the long staircase to see the patient. 
Fredrika did not follow but returned to the parlor 
and again took up the book she had been reading. 
Her heart throbbed against her breast and she could 
not read for she seemed so strangely influenced by 
this man. She recalled her dreams of him; of the 
many times she had pictured his face; of the hours 
in which she had longed to see him since the night 
of Margaret’s illness. It was so strange. She 
scarcely knew him and yet she was sure she loved 
him. 

A half hour later she heard his returning foot- 
steps on the stairs and when he reached the hall, 
he walked into the parlor where she sat and an- 
nounced the improvement in her aunt. He ex- 
tolled^ the nurse ; he talked about the dog and the 
beautiful autumn days and finally rose and went 
away in the old doctor’s gig which had been left 
standing beneath the trees. After he had gone, 
Fredrika walked to a window where she could 
watch him as he drove out of the park gates 
into the public highway. 

And he, as he drove on, could not keep the face 
of the beautiful woman out of his mind. How kind 
and sweet she seemed ; how beautiful and fascinat- 


THE ONE MAN 


233 


ing her brown eyes and how great her interest in 
dogs and horses and what an appreciation she had 
of modern medicine. How different she was from 
the many silly women he had known; — the kind 
that bore men, — especially scientific men, with their 
talk of anti-vaccination, anti-vivisection, and other 
foolish babble which they assume to be modern 
wisdom. In her, he recognized the real Nature 
student, one whose mind was well stored with a 
correct interpretation of science. He wondered 
that more women did not better understand the 
laws of life, for never were fields more open, and 
never were opportunities better; and yet how few 
he had met who were not much advanced beyond 
the days of Macbeth. Ah, yes, it was a wonderful 
education, one which had not been dwarfed, which 
had kept her close to the truth, — the truth of Na- 
ture, which never fails to keep men and women in 
intimate relationship with God. — ^And thus he 
mused on and on. 

Again his thoughts turned towards Fredrika. 
Yes, she was a woman he could love. Could love ? 
He wondered why he thought thus, for he knew 
that he loved her even then. . . . 

He felt the jostle of the gig as it struck against 
a stone which had fallen from a rock overhead. He 
started, for it had broken in upon his dream. A 
moment later he forgot the incident and his mind 
returned to its former thought. No, the woman 
was not for him. They were forever separated by 
that damnable barrier, gold. The precious golden 
stuff which he had so much needed all his life. 
How detestable it now seemed to him. — But he 


234 


THE ONE MAN 


would drive the thought away; for women of her 
class, of her wealth and social position were not in- 
terested in men like him. And he would never 
marry; better that, than a life with one who did 
not reach his ideals. 

He touched the old mare with the whip which 
lie had been holding in his hand. She trotted along 
at a brisk gait for a few rods, and then tired with 
the work of many years, she fell back again into 
the slow walk. 

Again his mind lapsed into its former train of 
thought. No, rather than marry a woman out of 
touch with his ideals, a woman for whom he could 
feel no love and one who could not enter into his 
life work with sympathy, he would live alone, com- 
forting the sick and the dying, even if there seemed 
but little gratitude therein. Then his thoughts re- 
verted to his old friends in the West. . It had been 
so hard to leave them — especially the little chil- 
dren — those to whom he had administered since 
their birth. They were dearer to him than he had 
thought; and in his reverie he recalled them one 
by one. He saw them look up into his face; he 
heard them say, ‘^my doctor.’’ His eyes grew moist. 
Perhaps no one ever loved him as had these simple 
folk out on the broad Western prairies. 

A terrible homesickness came over him. He 
would return to them. He had for the moment 
even forgotten Fredrika Von Hoffman. 

Just then the village came into view; and he 
gave old Norah another touch with the whip. She 
rapidly trotted down the hill and up the long drive- 
way to her stable door. 


THE ONE MAN 


235 


At supper that night the old physician made in- 
quiries regarding Aunt Charlotte’s illness; mean- 
while remarking that he generally made that trip 
in quicker time. 

‘‘Mighty interesting young woman out there, Dr. 
Stanton,” he said with a sly look at his young col- 
league. “I was present when she was born, sir. 
Let me see. How long ago was it?” 

He thought a moment and looked up. “Just 
thirty one years ago last June.” 

He rang for the maid and made some slight 
request. 

“Yes, thirty-one years ago. And I never had a 
better friend than her father, Isaac Von Hoffman. 
He was the first man to give me a start and the 
last one to desert a true friend. His daughter is 
like him; she never forgets her friends. I’ve been 
with them in, trouble, sickness and death, through 
all these”* years; and she seems just like my own 
child. She sent for me once when she was out in 
Bar Harbor on the Maine coast. That’s the kind 
of friends to have, Stanton. They’re the ones whom 
we can sacrifice our lives for. They are the ones, 
who by their appreciation," make a physician feel 
that life is worth living. The ones, who by their 
kindly gratitude help you to forget the thoughtless- 
ness and cruelty of narrow minds, which it is our 
lot to meet with, perhaps more than other men.” 

He paused as if reflecting upon unpleasant ex- 
periences. 

“Yes, Stanton, I have been mightily annoyed 
with some people; but when I got to the point of 
understanding human nature well and judging folks 


236 


THE ONE MAN 


Upon their own plane, instead of my own, I began 
to pity them. WeVe tried, you know, as members 
of the American Medical Association to introduce 
ethical methods among the laity, whereby we hoped 
to bring this class up to the standard governing 
other business associations; but we have failed; 
and for a century longer we must face the fact that 
ninety per cent, of our patients will lie, deceive and 
disappoint us in our estimation of them. At least, 
until, as Miss Von Hoffman says, 'men and women 
are regenerate with the spirit of human brother- 
hood.’ ” 

He pushed his spectacles back upon his head. 
"Doctor !” he said. "I am, myself, a convert to the 
belief that we look too much from without for our 
ideals of right living. More and more, it comes to 
me that we would live better if we listened to the 
whispering of the 'still, small voice’ within our 
hearts.” 

He lapsed into a few moments’ silence. Finally, 
he helped his young colleague to another bit of 
quail, which a friend had sent him that day. 

"I have often wondered why she doesn’t marry,” 
he said, as they proceeded with the meal. "Her 
friends think that it is her religious views; but I 
never could see why that made much difference. 
Have you talked with her much?” 

The young physician, whose advanced studies 
were far more liberal than the old doctor knew, 
replied that he had not. 

"Well,” said the old physician after a moment. 
"It don’t make much difference anyway, as long as 
we’re trying to do the best we can, according to the 
light within our hearts.” 


THE ONE MAN 


237 


‘'No/' replied Stanton, “as for me I have no prej- 
udices as to sect. I know that ‘to Jew and Gen- 
tile, to Mohammedan and Brahmin, to Confucian 
and Buddhist, revelations have been given.' Who 
then shall say that this one is right and the other 
wrong? To my mind everyone has the right to 
interpret these revelations as they will; and also to 
change their faith from whatsoever opinions they 
have formerly held. Physicians everywhere I be- 
lieve are quite liberal as to these questions. In 
one thing only can we exclaim with truth: 

“ ‘Thou First Great Cause, least understood, who 
all my sense confined. 

To know but this, that thou art good, and that 
myself am blind. 

Mean though I am, not wholly so, since quickened 
by thy breath. 

Lead me wheresoe'er I go, through this day's life 
or death ! 

To Thee whose temple is all space, whose altar, 
earth, sea and skies. 

One chorus et all beings raise. All Nature's 
incense rise !' " 

“Well," said the old doctor, leaning back in 
his chair, “probably you and she would agree right 
well. To tell you the truth, she'd make you a cap- 
ital wife, Stanton." 

“I should be delighted to have a better acquain- 
tance with so intelligent a young woman as Miss 
Von Hoffman; but Dr. Drake, pray do not dream 
of anything further. Young women of Miss Von 
Hoffman's wealth and social standing have no 
thought for men of my class. She is many times a 


238 


THE ONE MAN 


millionaire; I am but a struggling country doctor 
and the social gulf is very wide between us.” 

^ ''Now see here, young man,” said the old physi- 
cian, interrupting him. "Like many, you have got 
a wrong idea about rich people, that is the better 
class of rich people in the Empire state. I can tell 
you right now that they’re not all fools. Once in 
awhile a duke or a count has come over here and 
carried off a few of our girls for the money they 
had; and I also know that there has been what 
might be called a wave of aristocratic feeling pass- 
ing across this country. It struck New York as 
it did every other important center, but it hasn’t 
amounted to much. For awhile, in all cities, East 
and West, little thrones were set up around which 
people with gold could worship. But it is dying out. 
Such a condition never lasts long in a republic. It 
contains a spirit which is rapidly consumed with the 
social fires it builds. It fails because gold needs 
brains to keep it from melting; and neither the one 
nor the other survives the demand for human sym- 
pathy or human love.” 

He took off his spectacles and wiped them on the 
corner of his table napkin. 

"New York may have been the first to fall a 
victim to the snobbery of the last decade ; but you 
can depend upon it, boy, that she will be the first 
to throw off the hateful thing. Already she has 
risen to the call of her ancestral spirit and the 
world will ere long witness her return to the democ- 
racy of her forefathers. There are recorded to- 
day numerous instances of marriage between the 
sons and daughters of wealth and those in less for- 


THE ONE MAN 


239 


tunate (?) financial circumstances. The young 
people of our country are rapidly awakening to the 
perniciousness of the power of gold. They will 
soon be looking rather to high ideals, than to the 
purses of their prospective fathers-in-law. The 
curse of that snobbery which has for a little time 
influenced the lives of men and women, causing 
them to despise work, to stand apart from the poor 
and the menial, to alfect ultra dress, ultra fashion, 
ultra everything, is showing signs of giving way to 
a rational wave of naturalism and simple living, in 
which the power of heart and soul will far out- 
weigh the power of gold.’’ 

The young doctor had listened attentively; and 
was about to give utterance to some thoughts upon 
the subject, when the old physician immediately 
changed the subject and asked how he found Aunt 
Charlotte. 

“Suffering from a severe bronchial catarrh,” re- 
plied the young man. 

Dr. Drake shook his head. “Bad illness for an 
elderly person,” he said, pushing his spectacles still 
further back upon his head. “Don’t forget to give 

her s .” His voice assumed a masterly tone; 

“and above all else don’t fail to look after her di- 
gestion.” 

He bent over the table and looked into his face, 
fatherly, impressively. 

“Most doctors,” he said, “that is, young doctors, 
fail in one thing.” 

Dr. Stanton looked up inquiringly. 

“That old people require a mild digestive agent 
in almost every ailment they have. And you must 


240 


THE ONE MAN 


always remember that if you keep an old person’s 
stomach in good condition that the battle is half 
won in whatever case you meet.” 

Then he rose and walking slowly and proudl)^ 
across the room, he went to an old cupboard built 
in the side of the mantel. As he opened the door 
he turned back and said: 

‘'Yes, I always take a little pepsin and bitter gen- 
tian in my tonic.” He unscrewed a small flask 
which he took from a lower shelf, and pouring out 
his thimbleful, he drained his glass to the last drop. 

An hour later the Von Hoffman carriage was 
driving rapidly into the village and the old coach- 
man, when he reached the doctor’s house, jumped 
from his seat and ran hurriedly up the long walk 
and rang the bell violently. 

Dr. Drake knew that Aunt Charlotte was worse. 

“Oh, Doctah,” said the faithful old Samuel, al- 
most out of breath. “Oh, Doctah, Aunt Charlotte 
is worser ebery minit. Can’t yo’ come wid de 
young doctah an’ see her jest dis once? I’se bro’t 
de easiest ca’ige in de barn, Doctah. Ole Marse’s 
best Ifr’oom. He used to say ‘Sam’el, dat is jes 
like a ^rockin’ chair.’ De cushions, Doctah, dey is 
jes as sof an’ dey go way down wid ye.” 

He looked so anxious and talked so pleadingly 
that the old physician, although he hardly felt 
equal to the ride, could not refuse him. 

“Yes, Samuel,” he said, “I will go with you.” 
And within a short time the two physicians were at 
Aunt Charlotte’s bedside. 

“What do you think of the case?”, inquired the 


THE ONE MAN 


241 


younger man, as they retired into the library for 
consultation. 

‘‘Just as I expected. Some one has overfed 
her,^’ he replied. 

“The nurse has had strict orders; she appears 
like one whom you can trust.^’ 

The old doctor did not answer him, but pushed 
his spectacles back on his head and walked out into 
the hall, on down through the dining room, and 
tapped on the kitchen door. 

“Mary,” he said, as the faithful old cook opened 
it and came in. “What have you been giving Aunt 
Charlotte?” 

The old Irish woman came close to him. She 
had known him for years. She knew that she must 
tell him the truth, but she would defend herself. 

“An’ faith, OiVe been takin’ er a foine dish 
whiniver Oi cud, sir. That nurse is shure starvin’ 
’er to death. Doctor. Wan day last week, Oi was 
passin’ by her door and she called me in an’ said: 
‘An’ Mary, it’s starvin’ Oi am, as shure as ye live. 
Bring me up somethin’ to ate whin ye kin.’ An’ 
Oi said, ‘To be shure, an’ Oi’ll ramimber that order, 
fur indade no wan shall iver go hungry where Oi 
am. An’ it’s the blissid thruth that ivery day since 
thin, when that lazy nurse was slapin’ or radin’ 
novels down sthairs, Oi’ve watched me chance an’ 
carried ’er a* foine morsel. She’s starved. Doctor, 
an’ that’s th’ cause iv ’er wakeness. Oi’m tellin’ ye 
the blissid thruth. It’s not what she’s had, but 
what she ought to ’ave that she’s in nade of, sir.” 

Dr. Drake listened while he looked down into her 
kind, homely face. She had told him the truth ; and 


242 


THE ONE MAN 


after it he did not have the heart to reprove her» 
or to tell her that she had nearly killed Aunt Char- 
lotte with her kindness. He only said : ''It is nec- 
essary, Mary, that after today we shall be obliged 
to keep Aunt Charlotte on a very strict diet. I 
will give the nurse orders myself.’’ 

‘‘Well,” she replied, “Oi’ll not feed th’ ould soul 
iv ye say th’ worrud until ye tell me, but whin she 
recovers you must let me cook ’er th’ firrust square 
meal she kin ’ave.” 

Dr. Drake could hardly suppress a smile. 

“An’ whin Oi’m sick,” she went on, “no doctor 
kin sind me wan iv those thrained nurses. Their 
starvation ways niver will go wid Mary O’Hair. 
It’s not accordin’ to me bringin’ up, — their ways 
ain’t, — an’ niver a bit iv th’ beef tay what they 
make will Oi iver touch as long as Oi live.” 

The doctor assured her that after Aunt Char- 
lotte recovered she should cook for her to her 
heart’s content. Then he bid her good-bye and 
she walked out of the room smiling and — vindi- 
cated. 

Aunt Charlotte was so much improved in the 
early afternoon that Fredrika left her to make a 
trip into the city. She arrived home just as Samuel 
was leaving with the old doctor. She had, in the 
absence of her own carriage, taken a station wagon, 
and when she saw Dr. Drake her heart sank within 
her. She was not thinking of Aunt Charlotte. It 
had not occurred to her that she might be worse. 

She alighted and sitepped over to speak with the 
old physician. He told her of Aunt Charlotte’s ill 
turn and also assured her that she was now out of 


THE ONE MAN 


243 


danger. He also told her that Dr. Stanton, who 
was at her bedside, would remain with her through 
(the night. 

She turned to hide the blush which suffused her 
cheeks and bade the old doctor a hurried adieu. 
Then she rushed into the house, up stairs into the 
sick room. Assuring herself that her aunt was 
comfortable, she left her, and calling her maid, 
dressed for dinner. 

She knew that Dr. Stanton would dine with her, 
and out of consideration for his professional attire, 
she donned instead of a dinner dress an afternoon 
gown of a soft navy blue cloth. It was plainly 
made and well became her beautifully moulded 
figure. Its color also was in pleasing harmony 
with her clear, olive complexion. 

Fredrika was a brilliant entertainer and so in- 
terestingly had the dinner hour passed that the 
doctor scarcely thought of the delicious food Mary 
had served in her Very best style.’ 

After they left the table, they walked together 
down the hall, Fredrika leading the way into the 
library. He scanned the hundreds of priceless 
volumes which rested upon the shelves and was 
about to remark on the great number upon oc- 
cult and scientific subjects when the nurse called 
to him from the top of the stairs. 

He hastened to answer her, but when he returned 
Fredrika was not there. He lost his interest in 
the books and strolled on into the adjoining parlor 
and then into another whose windows overlooked 
the river. 

He was here when Fredrika returned. She 


244 


THE ONE MAN 


walked over to where he was standing and he 
hastened to bring her an easy chair. He made 
some quiet remark upon the beauty of the outside 
scene and took a seat opposite her. 

It was beginning twilight, — one of those beauti- 
ful autumn evenings when the sun’s receding rays 
melt into the approaching hazy moonlight. He 
sat with his head thrown carelessly back against the 
chair and for the moment looked across the river. 

They talked of the old traditions and he told her 
of another river, the mighty Father of Waters. 

Ah, how he loved that Western land! Again for 
a moment his face was in repose. His mind so 
entranced with its memories that he could not 
speak. 

Fredrika looked at him. She glanced alt the 
thick blonde hair above his brow, now slightly 
dampened from his exertions in the sick chamber. 
She noted his clean cut, manly features, his wonder- 
fully smooth, fair skin, his stout, athletic form. And 
such eyes! Ah they were indescribable, that blend 
of gray and blue, fascinating, impenetrable. And 
above all else that superb attractiveness in man, 
absolute unconsciousness of self. 

If she had ever doubted her love for this man, 
it would have been dispelled in this moment. 

Again the conversation proceeded and he spoke 
of returning to 

Fredrika thought he must have heard the throb- 
bing of her heart. It was beating so tempestuously 
against her breast. 

She found the words : “But Dr. Drake needs you 
here.’’ 


THE ONE MAN 


245 


''Yes/’ he replied; "but it is impossible for me 
to stay.” 

Then for a moment neither spoke. Fredrika was 
looking thoughtfully out upon the river. 

"They will be glad to have me return,” he pro- 
ceeded. "You know I am of the West, — born there 
and somewhat out of touch with Eastern life.” 

She observed his trembling lips. She read his 
inner thoughts. He had not succeeded in hiding 
them. The soul revealed them in his facial ex- 
pression as he looked away from her out upon the 
distant hills. 

Again he turned towards her. He stammered 
and tried to clear his throat. A moment later their 
eyes met; and he did not have to speak. From the 
depths of her sweet brown eyes he read a silent 
message. It had bidden him to stay. 

Ah love ! What a power thou art ! How under 
thy influence the soul speaks, framing its words into 
a language which needs no vocabulary of sound 
for its interpretation. Strange telepathic signals 
between men and women whose hearts are well in 
tune ! 

He rose, and bending over her, drew her beauti- 
ful hands close to his lips. Then he sat down 
beside her, and clasping her to his heart, he pressed 
upon her lips his first kiss of love. 

The moon shone on through the hours which 
now passed so quickly by and in the old and stately 
mansion that night, gentle sleep came to all save 
these two who were dreaming of the tomorrows 
in the happy days to come. 

The next morning the old coachman was wait- 


246 


THE ONE MAN 


ing to take the young doctor back to the village. 
He stood for a long time at the door and more 
than once he forgot the restless horses, as he turned 
his black eyes inquisitively in the direction of the 
quiet voices he heard in the hall. 

If he had listened he might have heard the sacred 
words, which, in tha)t half hour, united these lovers 
in a contract higher far than the sanction of state, 
or blessing of priest can ever give. A contract 
in which the sacredness of natural affinity is recog- 
nized. A contract having the sanction and bless- 
ing of the living God. A contract which abideth 
not only until death, but which lives throughout 
eternity. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

Months passed and in all this time, Margaret’s * 
hands had not been folded ; neither had she resigned 
herself To a forgetfuless of the unfortunate con- 
ditions which confronted her. She had herself 
made a personal investigation of the manner in 
which the millions now in her possession were ac- 
quired. Both in the Northwest and in Canada she 
had proven every charge, every suspicion. She 
had finished every detail, and had, a week previous, 
summoned her Northwestern attorney to New 
York. That very afternoon she was to meet him 


THE ONE MAN 


247 


at the city offices of Judge , the Eastern rep.- 

sentative of the Patmore estate. 

During the summer she had been living a)t the 
beautiful Hudson river villa, to which she had been 
taken as a bride, and to which her parents had re- 
moved the first month after her marriage. The 
stepmother had passed away the previous winter 
and her father, now an infirm man on the borderland 
of life, was — excepting the servants — the only oc- 
cupant of the palatial home. 

She and Fredrika had that summer been as much 
together as in the old days ; still neither had men- 
tioned Herbert’s name. The incidents of that 
never to be forgotten June morning were too in- 
delibly fixed in Fredrika’s mind and to Margaret 
the memory of that fateful afternoon in Minnesota 
made silence imperatively sacred. 

She knew that Herbert was in the West, probably 
in the same obscure settlement. She knew that 
Fredrika often received letters from him; but be- 
tween them no word of information or inquiry 
passed. 

Margaret was dressing for her trip into the city 
when she looked out and saw the Von Hoffman 
carriage driving in. It stopped in front of the 
door and a moment later she heard Fredrika calling 
her to come for a drive upon the mountain. 

She answered her from an upper window and in- 
formed her of her engagement in the city. Fred- 
rika quickly alighted and insisted upon remaining 
with the aged father until her return. 

Fredrika was fully acquainted with Margaret’s 
discoveries and intentions. Together they had con- 


248 


THE ONE MAN 


suited over the best plans to proceed in everything 
and both knew that when the attorneys were made 
acquainted with her determinations that they would 
with every power at their command endeavor to 
dissuade her from her decision. 

But there was to be no surrender. 

Margaret knew that it was simply a matter of 
justice, of right doing, and that it must be done, 
first and foremost in the interest of the wronged ; 
second, for her peace of mind and for her own 
character’s sake. She was also determined that 
it should be accomplished without publicity, if pos- 
sible. She also did noit care to pose as a martyr at 
the expense of her dead husband’s reputation. He, 
too, was but the victim of unfortunate social condi- 
tions, of racial and family taints over which he 
had not been taught to exercise control. Sinning 
because he himself had not been able to grasp the 
high principles of life— the ethics of the brother- 
hood of man. A criminal because he had not been 
taught the meager valuation of gold as compared 
with human character. No it was only a matter be- 
tween herself and God-, whose spirit had filled her 
with ideals of human justice and sympathy for 
human suffering. 

Ah what a silent prompter this still, small voice ! 
How it had saved both her and him whom she 
would have died to save in that never-to-be-forgot- 
ten hour. 

In this important step she would be sure to come 
in contact with the temptation of arguments and 
such opposition as men of the world ever make ; but 
she had no doubt of her victory. 


THE ONE MAN 


249 


Again her religion should be to her a powerful 
master. Through it she would have strength such 
as the world dreamed not of. Through it she 
would be able to overcome all opposition and re- 
trieve the past, — her past, and the failures of him 
who had gone forth to meet his God without con- 
fession, without repentance, without absolution. 

‘'It is my atonement. A sacrifice for the ex- 
piation of his sins and for my own 

She had almost spoken the words aloud as her 
coachman drew up to the station. 

A half hour later she was on her way to the 
metropolis. In passing she caught a glimpse of her 
old home, the little cottage on the river’s bank. 
It was tenantless, but it had a cheerful look with 
its covering of scarlet colored woodbine, and 
feathery clematis blooms hiding the gnarled old 
plum tree, bending with purple Damsons inside the 
garden wall. 

Her eyes filled with tears, for Fredrika had told 
her that in the past years no day had passed, that 
her father had not gone within its doors, and sat 
beside the boat now unused and safely moored 
upon its snow white floors. And also of the old 
spaniel’s death, and the friendship of the two, and 
of his little grave under the lilacs. 

She was filled with the tenderness of her 
thoughts, and her mind reverted to her own happy 
life with them when she was aroused by the shrill 
whistle and slowing of the train. Could it be pos- 
sible that she had reached the city? 

She looked out and saw the station’s tumult and 
commotion, and then stepped down from the coach, 


250 


THE ONE MAN 


entered a carriage and was hurriedly driven to the 

W A . An hour later she was on her way 

to No — Broadway. 

When she entered the office, her Northwestern 
attorney, already there, rose to greet her. He in- 
formed her that Judge was not in, remarking at 

the same time that the slowness of the Eastern 
business man was proverbial. 

She laughingly replied that they did not have 
quicksilver in their feet like the Westerner and 
then proceeded to inquire regarding her St. Paul 
friends. 

They waited an hour for the Judge to return and 
in this hour the old attorney inquired why she had 
summoned him to New York. 

It was a dreadful ordeal but she told him all. Of 
her weakness in marrying Judson Patmore, a 
divorced man, contrary to the teachings of her 
religion, and of her old father’s sorrow over the 
sin she had committed against his beloved church. 
Told him of her own unhappiness as this man’s 
wife, and then of the incidents leading up to the 
finding of the deserted wives and the two unfortu- 
nate children, children who were bone of his bone, 
flesh of his flesh ; precious, human creatures, to 
whom as a man and a citizen he owed the very high- 
est duty of humanity, and to whom he had given 
instead, not only pitiless neglect, but the heritage of 
crime and wrong, robbing them even of the very 
means of sustaining life and preserving human 
reason. , 

She then told him of the hunger, the cold, the 


THE ONE MAN 


251 


inadequate clothing, the self denial of the one 
mother, the degradation and maniacal condition 
of the other, the mental suffering of both, the gen- 
eral conditions of misery entailed and endured, 
even in the very hours when he had surrounded 
her with luxuries untold, when he had with her 
reveled in a life of social pleasures, the extrava- 
gance of which was appalling. 

She related to him the manner in which this 
wealth was accumulated after its nucleus had first 
been stolen direct from this woman of the forest. 
How in all these years there had been no honest 
gains. She told him of the lands unpurchased, 
from which priceless timber had been cut. She 
showed him deeds of acres justly owned and near 
them sections vast from which millions of pine had 
been taken as the years went by. 

He moved abruptly in his chair. 

She laid these papers and the affidavits sustain- 
ing these facts before him; and then she handed 
him an envelope yellow with age. 

^^Open it. Read it,’’ she said : ^‘It is the forged 
will of a living woman. It will show you that he 
resorted to greater crime as well.” 

He read it, and taking off his glasses, he looked 
up into her face. 

^'Yes,” she went on, '^it is a forged document. 
I also have the forged proofs of her death. It 
gave him valuable lands. He sold them. It was 
his method of making money. It was probably his 
first venture in a criminal career.” 

He did not speak. He knew much of this man 
but not this. 


252 


THE ONE MAN 


not doubt me. It is true.’’ She went on: 
''I have been into the depths of the forest. I have 
been to Canada. I know whereof I speak. And it 
is for this that I have summoned you to New York. 
To tell you every fact; and also that with my own 
hands I shall return to these unfortunate ones an 
equivalent of their loss. It is beyond me to make 
amends for the hunger, the misery, the loss of hu- 
man reason, the loss of faith in man and in God; 
but I can and shall return the gold, tarnished as it 
is with sin.” 

The attorney looked at her. He wondered if 
she were not insane. 

She talked on. ‘^And to the North Star estate, 
so robbed of such priceless wealth — ^nature’s own 
heritage — will I also make amends. Can you tell 
me, sir, if there will be enough to expiate the 
wrong ?” 

'‘Mrs. Patmore,” he said after a few moments 
and in a subdued tone of voice. "Don’t you think 
you’re acting rashly in this matter? Does Judge 
know of your intentions?” 

"Sir,” she replied. "I am not conscious of 
rashness in my desire to return stolen property to 
its rightful owners.” 

"Perhaps there is some mistake,” he replied. 
"Perhaps .” 

She interrupted him. "There is no mistake. 
Have I not told you that I have personally investi- 
gated all this ?” 

"But — ” he hesitated a moment. "Are you 
aware, Mrs. Patmore, that if you carry out your 
intentions that you will yourself be penniless ?” 


THE ONE MAN 


253 


She simply stared at him. She made no reply. 

He went on: ^‘Can you not think of a better 
way? Endowments to the state, to its public in- 
stitutions and personal gifts to these unfortunate 
ones T' 

He looked her squarely in the face. He was in- 
terested. His livelihood for years had depended 
upon the management of the old millionaire’s West- 
ern business. 

'‘That would be the way of the world — of modern 
society — of governments gone wrong. But it is 
not mine. I have not learned such ethics of atone- 
ment yet.” 

She rose to go. 

"It is 4:30 and I promised to return at 6 
o’clock,” she said. "I will make another appoint- 
ment.” 

For sometime after she had gone, he sat in deep 
meditation. He could not understand this woman. 
Young, beautiful, a multi-millionaire, yet willing 
and determined to renounce every dollar of her 
vast estate, not satisfied to make herself penniless 
but to express a fear that there might not be 
enough for just reparation. 

He knew well enough that her position was right 
But a doubt came into his mind. Was she irre- 
sponsible? As he roused himself the worldly im- 
pulse came over him. "Yes, that, or else a fool. 
She shall have a guardian.” 

"Well, well, what’s the matter, sir?” said a voice 
behind him. 

The New Yorker stepped briskly along and 
extended his hand to his Western colleague. 


254 


THE ONE MAN 


''How are you, sir? How is your health? Did 
Mrs. Patmore come?’’ He asked the questions 
rapidly. 

‘'Did she?” replied the man. "Say, Judge, do 
you think that woman’s all right ?” 

The Judge looked at him a moment. 

"What do you mean, sir?” he said excitedly. 

The Westerner did not reply, but asked this 
question. "Do you know. Judge, what she’s going 
to do?” 

"Marry again, I suppose,” said the Judge, smil- 
ing. "It’s about two years now since the old gentle- 
man died. Don’t know as we can blame her very 
much. Mighty handsome woman, and rich. Had 
almost a mind once to propose myself.” 

"Marry? No!” exclaimed the Western attorney. 
"No such good luck as that.” 

The New Yorker looked at him. "What do you 
mean, sir?” 

"Well, you sit down and I’ll tell you.” 

He took a seat in front of him. 

"Going to give away every dollar of old Pat- 
more’s money!” 

The Judge looked up. He took off his nose 
glasses. 

"Twenty million dollars? To whom is she going 
to give it?” 

"Well the fact is she isn’t exactly going to give 
it away. She’s going to return it to the rightful 
owners.” 

"Why! The money wasn’t stolen was it, Ham- 
mond?”, inquired the Judge, excitedly. 

The Westerner got up, ran his fingers through 


THE ONE MAN 


255 


his hair, walked over to a window, took a piece of 
chewing tobacco from his pocket, and placing it 
delicately in his mouth, turned and walked back 
again to the chair he had left. 

“Well,"’ he said, taking his seat again. ''There’s 
a whole lot more to this than you know. And 
she’s got the documents to prove a few things too. 
I think myself she’s a fool to bother with it now; 
but I’m afraid she won’t give in.” 

The Judge leaned back in his chair. 

"I might as well tell you the particulars, for 
we’ve both got to face the matter, and talk her 
out of it if we can.” 

He told the story. When he had finished he 
got up and replenished the morsel of tobacco. 

"Now,” he said, as he again took the chair near 
the Judge. "I know something about this myself. 
In fact I know a whole lot about pine land thiev- 
ing: — But about the woman, Judge? Old Pat- 
more was a darned fool in some things. Good, too ; 
and wanted to do something for the white kid. He 
told me so hundreds of times; but said that the 
mother wouldn’t permit it. She came from an old 
Connecticut family ; proud as Lucifer. She 
wouldn’t even let him put his eyes upon her.” 

The Judge moved nervously. 

The man went on : "I never exactly knew what 
the trouble was between her and the old man. I 
guess not much of anything, only he seemed to get 
foolish as he grew older. Probably she didn’t fly 
high enough to suit him when he got so much 
money. Anyway he had a few words with her 
over whatever it was and went out in South Da- 


256 


THE ONE MAN 


kota and came back into town with a divorce in his 
pocket. That fixed him and her too, if what this 
girl says is true.’’ 

His voice changed. It assumed a tone of seri- 
ousness. 

'T’ve seen that man, Judge, when he’d get to 
thinking about that baby and how her mother re- 
fused to let him take care of her child to take on 
like a crazy man.” 

His voice changed to a lower tone. 

''Damned queer, isn’t it, about some of these old 
men. Judge? I believe it’s a kind of lunacy with 
them.” 

He reached into his pocket and took out a small 

plug of best; from the other he drew forth 

a knife which looked as if it had done service many 
a year, and slicing off another bit of the precious 
weed, he placed it in his mouth and returned both 
knife and tobacco to his pocket. 

"Now,” he continued, "you take old man Pat- 
more. After he got that divorce, — and before too, 
I’ve been told, — ^he used to take in everything in 
society as he called it; went to lodges, to church 
sociables, dances, blowouts of all kinds, and would 
sit in his coupe outside our opera house door, — the 
side door, I mean, where the girls come out. 
Actually tried to flirt with them and I guess he 
succeeded somewhat. With him it was girls, girls 
all the time, all kinds of girls, any kind of girls. 
Why, Judge, when you and I were boys we never 
thought so much of girls as did that old fellow after 
he was sixty. Don’t know as he ever did any 
harm, just darned silly, you know.” 


THE ONE MAN 


257 


The Judge smiled and knocked the ashes from 
a half consumed cigar. 

The Westerner continued : 'T used to say to him 
sometimes: 'Patmore, if you want to marry, for 
God’s sake why don’t you look around for some 
nice woman atMDut your own age, — there’s always 
plenty of them out there, you know, such as widows, 
grass widows, school teachers and other unmarried 
females.’ — But he would not listen to me for a 
moment. It was girls, girls ; someone to make him 
forget his age. Someone to help him blow in the 
money.” 

The Judge smiled again. The Westerner’s quaint- 
ness of expression made him an interesting per- 
sonage. 

He went on : "And Judge, we’ve got hundreds of 
the same kind out there. Old fellows capering 
around in their dotage as if they were sixteen-year 
old boys. They appear to think it’s smart work, 
that it makes them popular; but you ought to see 
the other sex smile on the quiet and the boys pat 
them on the back just to see the fun a-going. What 
do you think of such cases. Judge? Have some 
like them down East, I suppose ?” 

"Hundreds of them, sir, hundreds of them,” re- 
plied the Judge. "Rather think the disease is on 
the increase. Senile brain changes, sir. Should be 
confined. Some day there will be retreats for aged 
men who are thus unbalanced.” 

The Judge threw away his cigar and walked 
over to his desk. 

"Well, Hammond,” he said, as he sat down, "I 


258 


THE ONE MAN 


rather guess Mr. Patmore found some one who was 
able to get away with his millions all right.’’ 

“Yes, indeed,” replied the Westerner. “They 
blew in several thousand dollars every month out on 
the coast. Where in thunder did all this money go, 
Judge ? I’ll be darned if I could spend as much as 
that in years.” 

“Well,” he replied, “I don’t know about the coast 
expenses, but I know pretty well how they spent 
it here. For instance, one party in , (nam- 

ing a fashionable watering place) cost them one 
hundred thousand dollars. I also recall a check of 
eight thousand dollars for a dinner dress which his 
wife wore to an affair given by one of his Western 
friends in Washington. Another instance was when 
he paid three hundred thousand dollars for a pearl 
necklace. Why man, their flower bill in New York 
alone amounted one year to more than ten thousand 
dollars.” 

The old lawyer got up and walked across the 
room. 

“Well,” he said, as he turned and paused on the 
opposite side of the desk. “I’ll be damned if it 
isn’t wrong to spend so much money in such cussed 
extravagance right in the sight of so much misery 
and poverty. His own children even starving; ex- 
wives working for bread, or in need of humane, 
medical treatment.” 

“Yes, indeed, and this case is but one of thou- 
sands. A sad spectacle everywhere, this shameless 
misuse of wealth, even if immediate dependents do 
not suffer. Such profligacy is far-reaching in its 
influence and is no doubt responsible for much of 


THE ONE MAN 


259 


the misery and dishonesty which is daily causing the 
downfall of thousands less financially able to meet 
the foolish demands of modem society/’ 

‘‘They tell me, Judge, that it’s your damned 
Four Hundred right here in New York which 
started this sort of thing.” 

“It is a mistake, sir.” 

The Westerner lifted his brows, “A mistake? 
How’s that?” he said. 

Yes, it is a mistake, sir,” he said the words em- 
phatically. “As a New Yorker, I declare that we 
today have no Four Hundred truly our own. Have- 
n’t had for the last fifteen years. I’ll admit that 
a dozen or more of our people are caught in the 
social net, but New Yorkers as such have little 
claim upon the set known as the Four Hundred. It 
is comprised of a new element. They are alien to 
the spirit of the Empire state. They purchase or rent 
our homes, our seaside palaces, our country villas 
and our farms. * They represent what is called the 
new rich class, the same class to which our friend, 
Mr. Patmore, belonged. They have gold and in 
many instances neither good sense nor good taste 
to accompany it. They have wrecked in numberless 
instances the honor, the ideals, the morals, not only 
of the New Yorker, but of the American citizen. 
They bring into our social life the methods to which 
they themselves have resorted to secure their enor- 
mous fortunes. Their own children are even now 
becoming disgusted with the spurious tastes to 
which they were born and will before another dec- 
ade is over, abolish the detestable ostentation 
which the parents have so thoughtlessly flaunted 


260 


THE ONE MAN 


before a silly and imitative public. — But we are di- 
gressing, Hammond. So, Mrs. Patmore is really 
going to give away her millions V 

'That is what she tells me,’’ and then he went 
on to relate her plans in detail. 

After he had finished, the Judge thought a mo- 
ment and then said: 

"We can’t do a thing about it, sir; and we don’t 
want to try. It is a sign of regeneration in the 
right place, in the class where it is most needed. It 
is the prayer of a new religion. The sacrifice of 
laying the low upon the altar of the high. It is 
the true worship of the living God !” 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

A few mornings later as Dr. Stanton was step- 
ping into his carriage at the Von Hoffman resi- 
dence, Margaret came in at the side door entrance. 
Fredrika saw her and called him back. 

"You must know my dearest, best friend/’ she 
said to the doctor, as he came through the door. 

"Mrs. Patmore, permit me to introduce Dr. Stan- 
ton. Dr. Stanton, my best friend, Margaret — Mrs. 
Patmore.” 

He bowed and Margaret reached forth her hand. 
A moment later she knew that the physician before 
her was none other than the one who had accom- 
panied her little party in the Northwestern forest. 


THE ONE MAN 


261 


He, too, found himself almost staring at her. 
Surely, it was the same face, the same golden hair, 
— yes, the very woman whose name he had never 
known. 

Neither one alluded to the incident of meeting 
before ; but both were fully cognizant of the fact. 

For a few moments they engaged in a casual 
morning conversation and then the doctor excused 
himself and hastened away to the duties awaiting 
him. 

After he had gone and luncheon was over, Fred- 
rika entered the parlor and throwing herself upon 
a low ottoman at Margaret's feet, she told of her 
love for Dr. Stanton and of their prospective mar- 
riage the following May. 

Margaret reached forth her hand and clasped the 
one which Fredrika had placed across her lap. 

‘Ht is a beautiful story, Fredrika. Its keynote 
is love. That is enough. I congratulate you. 
You have chosen well." 

^^Oh, I am so glad you are pleased, Margaret." 
She paused a moment. 'T cannot tell you of my 
happiness. Perhaps you " 

She did not finish the sentence. It would have 
been cruel. 

But Margaret herself uttered the word: 

“Understand." She dashed away the tears which 
had already filled her eyes, and renewed her clasp 
upon Fredrika's hand. 

“Tell me, Fredrika, how and when you first met 
this man. I am becoming interested and inquisi- 
tive. You have succeeded right well in keeping 


262 


THE ONE MAN 


your romance from me. If I mistake not he re- 
ferred in his conversation of having met you some 
time ago.'’ 

At first thought, Fredrika decided not to tell her. 
She could not bear to awaken the painful memor- 
ies of those days ; but in another instant her enthu- 
siasm had overcome her consideration and she was 
saying : 

‘'Yes> it was some time ago, Margaret. It was 
the night I found you so ill. We thought you were 
dead or dying and we sent for Dr. Drake. Dr. 
Stanton came in his place." 

Margaret's face grew pale. Fredrika observed 
it, but went on : 

‘'No, you do not remember him, for when you 
returned to consciousness. Dr. Drake was in at- 
tendance. Dr. Stanton immediately returned to the 
West, and I did not see him myself until Aunt 
Charlotte's last illness. 

She looked up into Margaret's face. “It may 
seem strange to you," she hesitatingly said, “but 
I loved him from the first moment I looked into 
his face. I knew that above all others he was the 
one man. Ah, that love could always from the 
first find its own." 

Margaret could hear no more. She unloosed her 
hold on Fredrika's hand, rose and walked over to 
the window. She would hide her tears. Her will 
should suppress them. And she did not weep; but 
she resolved in the bitterness of the emotion which 
took the place of tears to tell Fredrika the cause 
of her almost fatal illness on the night alluded to. 
Yes, the very moment had come when she could 


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263 


tell her. In the ecstasy of her own happiness she 
would be able to fully realize what it was to endure 
the sacrifice of love. 

She turned and looked toward Fredrika. Upon 
her face there was no trace of tears. She had 
crowded them back as she had killed a thousand 
emotions ere this time. 

“Fredrika/’ she said, “I have a confession to make. 
The time is opportune, and you will forgive me, if 
in this hour of your happiness I tell you that the 
night which brought you love plunged my life into 
a darkness through which no light will ever pene- 
trate. You knew something of your brother’s love 
for me then, but you do not know all.” 

Her face was sad beyond expression, even the 
blue in her eyes seemed to lose its light. 

“But it is all over now, and I am reconciled.” 
The words came reluctantly, but she felt stronger 
when they were uttered. 

Then she told Fredrika the story of her sudden 
illness; of the shock which caused it; and then, 
slowly and without emotion, she unfolded the 
misery of her married life. She pictured its re- 
pulsiveness, its wretchedness, and told her frankly 
of her continued love for Herbert. 

Fredrika’s eyes rested upon her in pitying ten- 
derness. 

In a voice almost a whisper, she continued to 
review the hours of her angry despair, her tempta- 
tions, and then of the resignation when she knew 
he had married another. She told her of the sub- 
sequent revolt and determination to win him away 
from his wife, and then of their last meeting and 


264 


THE ONE MAN 


the terrible struggle, and the victory — their victory. 

She talked on for some moments, but Fredrika 
hardly knew what she was saying. She had known 
of her brother’s love for Margaret; she would never 
forget that dreadful night, the one upon which Mar- 
garet had plighted her troth to Judson Patmore; 
she was painfully aware that Herbert’s grief over 
Margaret’s marriage, together with the fact of his 
inability to throw off the pernicious social factor 
until it was too late, had been the cause of his exile 
in the West; but she also thought he had forgotten, 
that his profession had helped him to forget. She 
furthermore felt that Margaret, like many other 
ambitious young women, was probably more or less 
happy while carried along on the social tide, in- 
different, perhaps, to the finer emotions of the soul. 
She knew of Judson Patmore’s past life, of the cha- 
grin and the trial Margaret had endured in regard 
to it, but not until this hour had she known how 
great had been her love for Herbert, or that she 
had endured the marriage with Judson Patmore, 
hoping through it to finally reach the love of her 
higher womanhood. 

And now to know all this ; to know how much 
she had suffered, and then that greater temptation. 
Again she recalled her words on that October after- 
noon when she had told Margaret that love would 
come to her and it would not be for Judson Pat- 
more. It was cruel, yet she had not mistaken the 
heart of Margaret Sullivan. But the revelations 
of the last hour had told her of a love she knew 
not of ; a love which instead of living for its own 
sake, was able to sacrifice itself even unto death 


THE ONE MAN 


265 


Upon the altar of an ideal, which involved the ques- 
tion of justice and of honor. Hitherto she had 
only thought of the reciprocative affinity, and even 
now she wondered if such love as Margaret had 
for her brother would be able to endure until the 
end. She wondered if she could give up the man 
she loved under similar circumstances. No, and 
neither should Margaret. It was all sentiment, 
foolish, churchly sentiment. In a moment pity 
for her brother came into her heart. She bent her 
eyes to the floor and then impulsively grasping Mar- 
garet^s hand she said very earnestly : 

“It shall not be. Love such as yours shall not 
be sacrificed. Herbert shall not continue to live 
with this woman for whom he has no love. She will 
not be wronged. She will be cared for — ’’ 

She paused and Margaret reached forth her hand. 
“Fredrika, it cannot be. This mother and her child 
shall not be deserted for me.'' 

Margaret looked down. 

It was another chance for happiness. Only a 
word from Fredrika and he would come. She won- 
dered after all if her ideals were not impractical. 
If she had not been unjust to him, if she had not 
wronged him to exact a promise which kept him a 
slave to her ideals. 

Come to her a free man! Ah, if he had only 
come to her a free man on that day in St. Paul 1 

“Yes, Margaret," again pleaded Fredrika, as if 
reading her innermost thought, “let me ask him to 
come." 

She had thrown her arm about Margaret's 
shoulder, she drew her face close to her own. She 


266 


THE ONE MAN 


whisp.ered, ‘'Answer me, Margaret, only say yes, 
and he will come.” 

But Margaret made no answer. 

Fredrika passed her hand tenderly across her 
cheek. “O, you are so young, Margaret, and so 
beautiful, and he loved you so much. Have you 
no pity for my poor, unhappy brother?” 

Overcome by Fredrika’s tenderness, she leaned 
forward and laid her head upon her breast. She 
tried to speak. What a temptation to surrender all 
for love. 

Fredrika stroked her beautiful hair. It had not 
changed in all these years except to have a richer 
tint, a still more golden hue. Again she impor- 
tuned her for an answer. 

Still Margaret would not speak. 

Fredrika looked at the immaculately white linen 
bands at her neck and wrists. She thought how 
little the widow’s garb represented the real sorrow 
of the breaking heart beneath it. 

At last Margaret rose. Her decision was made. 
Fredrika thought from the expression of her face as 
she met her own that it was a favorable one. Sud- 
denly, a flash of lightning from an unobserved 
storm filled the room and with a cry Margaret had 
fallen to the floor. Fredrika hastened to her side. 
She was uninjured but trembling with an emotion 
incomprehensible to the beautiful realist. A mo- 
ment later a flood of tears came to her relief, then 
a silent prayer, and then strength such as the 
worldly dream not of came into her soul. 

Fredrika led her to the old sofa. She remem- 
bered that it was in this same spot upon the 


THE ONE MAN 


267 


October afternoon so long ago that she had sacri- 
ficed her ideals. To-day she would live up to them. 
She would atone the past in full. 

‘Tredrika/' she finally said, ‘'you can have my 
answer now. It is final. Herbert cannot come.’’ 

Fredrika started in surprise. 

Margaret did not wait for her to speak. “Spare 
me, spare me, Fredrika.’’ 

Again Fredrika attempted to speak. “Mar- 
garet—” 

“No. I implore you. Do not overflow my cup 
of misery.” 

“But Margaret, it is an opportunity. It is your 
hour of fate. His chance of a new life, and love 
for you both. Listen, Margaret. It must not pass 
for I know what love means to you.” 

“Yes, yes, Fredrika. You know what love means 
but do not speak of that. Oh, Fredrika, for the 
love of heaven spare me. For the sake of my relig- 
ion. For the love of God, and for love of your 
brother, in consideration of that wife, — and — ^^his — 
child, oh, Fredrika, his — child — ” 

She clasped her hands convulsively over her fore- 
head. And then she wept out her love for his child. 

During her emotion, Fredrika did not speak and 
then a sudden light came into her heart. “I see 
it all now, Margaret. The injustice to mother and 
child. O, if it were not for the child — ” and then 
her tears too, fell like April rain. 

Then after a while, as if to comfort Margaret she 
quietly said: 

“Oh, these mistakes of ours. Verily there is no 
happiness when men and women do not heed the 


268 


THE ONE MAN 


silent voices of the soul. But after the mistakes 
are made, Margaret, after they are made, yours, per- 
haps, is the right ideal, for it will create a holier, 
happier reality in the years to come.'’ 

And then, as on that October day in the long 
ago, these two sat through the hour and talked of 
life and love, talked upon the laws of Church and 
State ; and when they had finished their hearts were 
welded with a new bond of sympathy. 

Darkness had come on, and at last Margaret rose 
to go, but Fredrika held her back: ‘‘Come, my 
sister." Margaret started. 

“Yes, my sister, my own sweet sister, lean for 
one moment your head against my heart." And 
then she pressed a kiss upon her brow such as a 
tender mother gives her child. 

Margaret raised her head and looked long into 
her eyes. The hot tears fell when she took Fred- 
rika 's hand and led her out into the deepening 
night. 

Another victory was won. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

It was a peaceful sleep which came to Margaret 
the night following the painful interview with Fred- 
rika. 

At one o'clock she was awakened and the nurse 
standing outside the door told her that her father 
was calling for her. He had been ill for many 
months and was awaiting the final summons. 


THE ONE MAN 


269 


It had come at last. The physician who had been 
called told them he was dying. The priest had lis- 
tened to his last confession and was about to ad- 
minister the last holy rites as Margaret entered the 
room. 

She fell upon her knees until the prayers were 
said and then when they were over she came close to 
his bedside. The two nurses were also kneeling. 
They too were comforting him in this hour of death. 

She spoke to him, but he scarcely knew her and 
sank back upon the pillows in exhaustion. She 
looked at him and a moment later she perceived 
that his lips moved. She bent over him. She 
heard him speak her name. 

''Margaret . . . little Margaret.’’ The words 
were barely audible. 

She bent closer to his face. She clasped his 
hands and whispered: "Yes, father. It is Mar- 
garet.” 

The nuns were softly praying. She listened for 
him to speak again. 

His lips moved. She was able to catch the words. 

"Margaret,” he said, "take . . me . . there. 
Take me home. Your own mother is coming . . . 
and . . I want her. .to. . find . . me . . 
there . . beside . . the . . river.” There was a 
long pause. She wondered if he would speak again. 

Again his lips moved. "There . . beside . . 
the river. — She . . knows. . . She . . has been 
. . there . . many . . times . . many times . . 
since . . you . . left . . me . . Margaret.” 

She understood. She replied : "Father, you shall 
be taken there. You shall be taken to the old home 


270 


THE ONE MAN 


down by the river.” Her tears flowed fast. She 
could say no more. 

She left the room and sent a messenger for 
Fredrika. She came hastily; she came and thought 
his longing but the delirium of the dying. 

“No, no,” cried Margaret ; “I know his heart. 
Come quickly and help me ! He wants to die there, 
Fredrika. Help me. Oh, help me! It is terrible 
to move the dying; but he must go. Yes, Fredrika 
he shall die in the old home!” 


The silver shafts of the midnight moon fell gently 
upon the pale faces of the young women and the 
black garbed nuns as together they carried upon an 
improvised litter the frail form of the dying man. 
Slowly they walked through the long avenue be- 
tween the magnificent maples, thence out across a 
stretch of rocky turf which extended through a 
narrow lane down to the river’s bank. 

Finally, they reached the cottage and entered 
through the lowly doorway. They laid him tenderly 
upon an old fashioned bed which stood in the little 
parlor, all unchanged these many years. 

Again Margaret bent her face close to his. 
“Father,” she said, “we are home again.” 

He opened his eyes. Together the young women 
supported his head. He looked out upon the river. 
He looked upon the overhanging ledges, and far 
away upon the distant shore. 

Again he spoke. He smiled. “The boatman, . . 


THE ONE MAN 


271 


Ah, he’s coming. And Margaret . . my Margaret 
. . she is here.” 

While heads were bowed low with weeping, amid 
the intoned prayers so softly said, the soul of the 
old fisherman went out across the bar. 

The river murmured softly. It splashed against 
the rocks. And then it sighed. It was chanting a 
requiem to the memory of one of Nature’s noble- 
men. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

Three months later Margaret had returned to the 
Northwest. It was a midwinter’s day in St. Paul. 
The thermometer had registered at forty degrees 
below zero for forty-eight hours. To this intense 
cold there was added a blinding storm, and on one 
of these fearful nights while she stood looking 
down from her hotel window into the street, a gust 
of sleet swept down, completely obscuring the out- 
side world. Shudderingly she turned away and 
after dropping the heavy velvet hangings, walked 
over to a small table where an elderly man sat 
writing. 

'‘How fortunate that I made my trip into the 
forest before this terrible storm. And oh, Mr. Ham- 
mond, how glad am I that there will be no more 
hunger and cold for those poor, strange creatures; 
no more suffering for this mother and her child, 
here at your very door.” 


272 


THE ONE MAN 


She clasped her white hands together and sat 
down opposite him. 

He had evidently been at work on some important 
papers, but he looked up when she addressed him, 
querulously wondering at the expressionable joy 
which beamed forth from her eyes. A month ago 
the possessor of millions, to-day almost penniless. 

'‘And that man over at the Capitol. I shall never 
forget his honest face. Do you know, Mr. Ham- 
mond, he asked me if I wasn’t Irish ; and when I 
told him I was, he grasped my hand in a strangely 
awkward way and pointing to all that was left of 
his red locks said: 

" 'Say, look here. So’m I. And I’m mighty 
proud of it too.’ ” 

Mr. Hammond smiled. He well knew this man 
with his quaint and honest ways. 

"He sat down and talked a long time with me,” 
she went on; "and when I rose to go he just took 
my hand in his and said : 'And you bet I’m darned 
proud to know that one of my race was the first 
person to do the square thing about these damned 
pine land steals.’ ” 

Mr. Hammond smiled again ; and made some re- 
mark about the man’s profanity. 

"Yes, it really did not seem quite correct for a 
public official to use so many expletives ; but the 
man was so sincere and had such a kind, honest face 
that I was not in the least offended by anything he 
said. I just know he couldn’t help swearing. 
It seemed a necessary addition to his vocabulary, 
Mr. Hammond, without which he would not be 
half so interesting.” 


THE ONE MAN 


273 


‘'Some truth in that, all right, Mrs. Patmore,’' 
replied the old attorney, folding up the papers and 
letters he had finished. 

“And, Mr. Hammond,” she went on, “it almost 
seems incredible, but he told me among other things 
that what I had refunded to the state was but ‘a drop 
in the bucket,’ as he expressed it, to that which 
should be returned ; that if Minnesota had not been 
robbed of her priceless pine forests, she would to- 
day be the richest state in the Union.” 

Mr. Hammond made no reply. Like many other 
citizens of the Northwest, he knew it to be the 
truth; yet he dared not be other than silent when 
the subject was mentioned. 

Cowardly silent! To speak might affect the in- 
terests of prominent men in the Northwest. 
To speak might involve rich, influential philanthro- 
pists in disgrace. 

Cowardly silent! Yes, but a silence well under- 
stood by the masses. By men and women, who to- 
day look upon such offenders as upon others who 
break the common law. 

Cowardly silent! Yes, but a silence which is 
even now brought well into the limelight of a think- 
ing public. Which has revealed, as under the illum- 
ination of the lightning’s flash, the perfldionsness 
of such wrongs. 

Observing that he was disinclined to be communi- 
cative upon the subject, she made no further com- 
ment. 

“Well, Mrs. Patmore,” he finally said, “I suppose 
you are well satisfied over what you have done, and 
I must say that it is a most remarkable act for a 


274 


THE ONE MAN 


woman to do. It has been my previous experience 
to observe their selfishness, especially in regard to 
money.’’ 

To this she made no reply, and at once changed 
the ' conversation. She knew that he, above all 
other of her business employees, would miss the in- 
come he had received so many years. He was 
growing old and she pitied him. She went over to 
the table upon which he had been writing and wrote 
her check for five thousand dollars. With as much 
delicacy as possible, she handed it to him saying: 
‘^Mr. Hammond, I will divide with you. I have as 
much for myself.” 

He was visibly affected ; but at last found words 
to express his thankfulness. He then sat down and 
attended to the few remaining details left for him 
to do. 

A few moments later he rose to go. ‘"Good-bye,” 
he said. “May God bless you forever.” 

She gave him her hand in farewell, and as he 
passed out of her presence down through the corri- 
dor he might have been seen to wipe away the tears 
which came in spite of his efforts to keep them back. 


“I thought old Patmore’s young widow was a 
fool,” he said to his wife that evening after he 
reached his home. “But I was mistaken.” 

“Well?” said his wife inquiringly. 

“Well! Plere, you take this and see for your- 
self,” he said as he sat down in a big arm chair 
near the fire. “Lay it up, Martha, for our rainy 
days.” 


/ 


THE ONE MAN 


275 


Mrs. Hammond made several inquiries regarding 
the disposal of Mr. Patmore’s estate, and after tak- 
ing her into his confidence regarding the whole af- 
fair, which she had solemnly promised never to re- 
veal, she seemed visibly affected and interested until 
her husband said : ‘^And if you’re a good Christian, 
Martha, you will, every night of your life pray that 
she may yet come into the rightful happiness of a 
love she so justly deserves.” 

Mrs. Hammond had straightened up in her chair. 
She was folding and refolding the check tightly to- 
gether in her fingers. 

^‘Yes, Martha, that woman’ll go to heaven when 
she dies — that is, if there is such a place. So you 
just confine your prayers for her happiness in this 
world. I’d give a hundred dollars to see that young 
woman smile once more.” 

Mrs. Hammond straightened herself up in the 
chair. She grasped the check tightly in the palm 
of her hand. A moment later she whisked out of 
the room making some scathing remark about smil- 
ing young widows and old men. 

When she returned she sat down in the chair she 
had previously left, and looking up into her hus- 
band’s face, said very emphatically, ‘^Chauncey, 
you can say all you want to about there being no 
heavenly home when you’re alone with me by your 
own fireside; but for pity’s sake don’t disgrace 
me by arguing it with the minister.” 

He looked up into her face. He saw that she 
had overcome the momentary impulse of jealousy. 
He knew that she would remember Margaret Pat- 
more in her prayers that night. 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


After Mr. Hammond left the hotel, Margaret 
walked over to a front window and drawing apart 
the heavy curtains looked down upon the street. A 
few men were rapidly hurrying along, and a sleigh 
sped swiftly around a nearby corner. The heavy 
fur coats of its occupants and the robes covering 
them were white with the now fast falling snow. 
She looked up into the sky ; it was dark and drear ; 
and a moment later she could not see, for a heavy 
gust of wind had driven a sheet of sleet down from 
the top of the building which struck the window 
pane. 

She started and dropped the curtain ; turned, and 
walked back to an easy chair which stood in front 
of the grate. 

She was tired. She sat and looked long into the 
mass of burning coals. Soon she was asleep and 
with a smile playing over her face she dreamed as 
the long midnight hours went by. 

Her head rested wearily against the side of the 
chair; and her golden hair had slipped from its 
confines and was hanging in massive coils almost 
to the floor. Her shapely hands, upon which now 
no jewels shone, were clasped together in her lap. 
Upon one finger only was a slender golden band. 
It told its own story of a marriage vow. 

The velvet gown of deepest black formed a strik- 
ing contrast to the fair white skin and pink tinted 


THE ONE MAN 


277 


cheeks which were growing hourly deeper in their 
reddened hue. 

At one o’clock the little colored lad, who looked 
after the grates, tapped lightly on the door ; but she 
did not hear him. He waited a moment and know- 
ing that he rnust replenish the fire on a night like 
this, he opened the door and softly tiptoed across 
the floor, laying the coals one by one upon the grate. 

He had not awakened her; and as he turned to 
go, he looked down into her face. 

‘‘I don’ see what fo’ she sleep lik dat. My, but 
ain’t she dremin’ good !” He rolled his eyes and a 
smile played across his face. ^‘She’s sho’ dremin’ 
’bout her lober, she is, an’ dis coon’l neber wake 
her up.” 

He turned and without a sound took up the iron 
scuttle. Before he started to go out, he looked 
again into her face. 

'‘My, but ain’t she hansom!” He almost said 
it aloud. "Cheeks jes lik roses. Quite a shade 
’tween her color an’ mine.” He started on and 
softly tiptoed back to the door. He closed it and 
without making a sound stepped out into the cor- 
ridor. 

"I’ll stay right here all froo dis night,” he said, 
half aloud. "I’m gwine to keep dat angel wa’am, 
I is . . Dat’s de kin’ ob a pusson what neber fer- 
gits de fee. I’m sho’ gwine to stay right here, jes 
outside de door, an’ if ebery one else in de house 
freeze to death dis night, I’m gwine to keep her 
grate chuck full.” 

He sat down in one of the easy hall chairs, and 
muttered to himself : 


278 


THE ONE MAN 


''I don’ see what fo’ so many folks sleep like dat 
in chairs fo’. An’ spesh’ly dis gi’l. She don’ look 
lik she been takin’ hot Scotch er nuifin’ else. She’s 
jes sleepin’ common, she is.” 

His sympathy was boundless. His intentions 
good, and he fully intended to remain awake and 
replenish Margaret’s grate; but a few moments 
later he, too, was fast asleep. 

Margaret still dreamed on. 

Again she was in the beautiful New York home, 
the old Hall of the Von Hoffman family. Once 
again she was clasped in the arms of a dark- 
eyed young man, who loved her. She felt his im- 
passioned kisses upon her lips. She looked into 
his eyes. She thrilled with the beating of his heart 
against her own. 

Ah, yes, this was life! And it was love! She 
cried aloud in her dream. At last she had come 
into its fullness. It was over, — the sacrifice. She 
lived on in the ecstasy of this sweet dream. 

The morning hours were rapidly approaching; 
and the shrill whistle of an incoming Coast train 
shrieked fiercely through the clear, cold atmosphere. 
It half awakened her. She turned her head against 
the chair. 

Again she slept; but her dream had changed. 
The cruel dawn had brought her into the memory 
of another love. A love which she had endured 
from Judson Patmore. 

She was shaking with a chill. It was so violent 
and severe that it awakened her. She was crying 
in her suffering. 

'T am so cold. Oh, so cold !” 


/ 


THE ONE MAN 


279 


Her voice awakened the colored boy outside the 
door. He opened his eyes and looked at the clock 
on the landing. 

'‘Six o’clock ! Fo’ de Lawd’s sake !” In another 
instant he was standing before her, in most apolo- 
getic attitude. 

He was saying: "Is you cole, Missus? I done 
furgot yo’ sho! Fse sorry Missus, Fse sorry sho, 
sho I is.” 

She told him how ill she was and how cold. She 
bade him bring a maid. Again she went into a vio- 
lent chill. It alarmed him, for her teeth chattered 
and her fair skin was turning blue with its slow 
and darkened blood current. He went over to a 
couch and brought a heavy rug wrapping it well 
around her. 

"Now, Missus, yo’ set right still an’ I’ll build a 
fire in a minit. De house isn’t very cold, Missus, 
but on a mornin’ lik dis de grate fire is very ’cept- 
able. If yose in bed, yo’ don’ need it, but when 
yose up it is a good thing. Don’ get nervous. Mis- 
sus, I’ll git some one jes soon as I wa’am de room. 
I’se seen lots o’ folks have de chills. It’s ager yo 
got sho’. Yo’ be wa’amed up all right soon.” 

He turned away and rang the bell for a maid ; 
and then rapidly replenished the fire. 

Margaret was soon well covered in bed ; but noth- 
ing seemed to break the chill. If it subsided for a 
few minutes, it returned again with a redoubled 
force. The maid declared that a physician should 
be called at once. She was ill, very ill, and the 
lad was hastily despatched for Dr. . 

"Oh ! my head ! Doctor !” she cried as the physi- 


280 


THE ONE MAN 


cian entered the room. ‘'And such a pain here!'' 
She placed her hand over her right chest.“I cannot 
breathe. It hurts me so.’’ 

The doctor made but few inquiries. It was not 
necessary, for little Sam had told him while on the 
way the particulars of the night’s exposure. He 
also had not failed to excuse his own negligence 
by saying that he thought white folks ought to know 
that beds were made to sleep in. 

For a moment the physician looked at his patient ; 
and then placed a thermometer under her tongue. He 
then took her pulse and respiration, finally placing 
his ear over the seat of pain. 

He leaned back in his chair and she looked at him 
inquiringly. 

“Madame, it is pneumonia. You will be ill for 
several days. The case demands the services of a 
nurse.” 

She reached for his hand. In pitying tones she 
said : “Pneumonia. A fatal illness.” 

“Not always.” 

She tightened her grip upon his hand, and looked 
well into his face. Delirium was coming on. The 
infection was severe and it would run a rapid course. 
The pain was severe and he prepared the medicine 
for its relief. She took it eagerly. 

“Doctor, I must live for him. He must be saved.” 

The doctor had listened to words like these be- 
fore, and he stroked back the golden hair. What a 
mission — to live for some man to save him. The 
thought impressed him as never before. He re- 
solved to know more of this patient whom he had 
never seen before. 


THE ONE MAN 


281 


''We will do ,our best. Nature is good. We will 
help her.’' 

"She smiled as she looked up into his eyes. "Na- 
ture — and you, too, say this. Fredrika always said 
this. Nature" — Nature. Do you not mean God?” 

At that moment the nurse was announced and 
when she came in, after giving directions for the 
case, he left the room. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

For five days the case progressed favorably; 
and then a message was despatched to the doctor. 
It said : 

Pulse failing. 130. Temperature higher. Fa- 
cial lividity. Increasing delirium. She is a Cath- 
olic. 

He sent back the reply: "I will come at once. 
Send for a priest.” 

The doctor was soon at the bedside of his patient 
and his experienced eye recognized at once the cri- 
tically alarming symptoms. 

During a conscious interval he said to her : "Ma- 
dame, you are a Catholic. I have taken the liberty 
to send for a priest. You are passing through the 
most critical period of your illness. No doubt you 
will be better tomorrow.” 

She opened her eyes. She understood. 

"Ah, Doctor, I know you will save me. I have 
great confidence. And then . . I must live . . 
for him.” 


282 


THE ONE MAN 


She made an almost superhuman effort to rise. It 
took both nurse and physician to restrain her. A 
moment later she was passive and was looking 
calmly into the doctor's eyes. 

Again he spoke: ''We are doing everything that 
skilful hands and modern medicine can do." 

She looked at him thoughtfully and appreciat- 
ingly. 

" — But," he further continued, "we do not hold 
the Book of Life in our hands. You have a fine 
constitution and Nature is a great restorer. We 
are aiding her ..." 

She was still looking at him intently. She was 
smiling. "Nature, Nature. You must know her. 
That is what she always says," and again as on his 
first visit she exclaimed : 

"Ah, yes, you both mean God." 

She raised herself up again. The nurse re- 
strained her. 

"Ah, yes," she cried, "you both mean God." 

She sank back upon the pillows in exhaustion and 
whispered the name of the man she loved. She 
begged the doctor to save her for his sake. Then 
she lapsed into a period of silence and they won- 
dered if she would speak again, but in a moment she 
was again crying "Ah he is here. Bring him 
quickly. Hurry, hurry. Doctor." 

Again the physician sought to calm her. "Yes, 
he was here. Doctor," and then she smiled and re- 
peated the words as if in confidence. 

"Yes," replied the man of science who ever reads 
hearts well , " he was here." 

"Will he come again?" she spoke in a whisper, 
inquiringly. 


THE ONE MAN 


283 


^'Yes, soon.’’ He would withhold no happiness, 
for he feared that death was near. 

A maid tapped on the door who announced the 
arrival ^of the priest. ^^Her condition is serious, 
Father, said the doctor as the priest entered the 
chamber. Then turning to the maid he said : ‘‘Send 

a message to Hotel for Dr. ; he came 

last night from Europe.” 

The priest hastened to the bedside of the woman. 
There was no confession for she could not speak, 
but he said the prayers and administered the sacra- 
ments of the dying. 

After it was over the two physicians came into 
the room. The woman had half roused again. 
There was the appearance of returning conscious- 
ness, but the doctor saw a marked change in her 
appearance since he left her. The purple tints upon 
her face had given place to a marble pallor. She 
was quiet, the pain, the agony of difficult breathing 
was at an end. Was it death? Both physicians 
were looking seriously down into her face. 

Ah, yes, it was death. 

Suddenly the consulting physician started. ''What 
is this woman’s name. I believe she is some one 
Thave known.” 

The nurse handed him a letter from a nearby 
table. He glanced through the pages excitedly, and 
at the close read his sister’s narri^. 

It was enough. For a moment he could not 
speak. ^ The perspiration gathered in great drops 
upon his brow. 

"It is from my sister. This woman is her friend, 
Mrs. Patmore.” 


284 


THE ONE MAN 


He turned again to the bedside and folding his 
arms across his breast looked down into her face. 
Upon his face there was no evidence of emotion. 
He observed that she was still breathing, although 
the nurse had a moment before declared that the 
pulse was still. 

Yes, it was Margaret. There was no mistake. 
There was the same golden hair and the same 
sweet smile. The Margaret he had loved. The 
Margaret who had sacrificed her love, her life for 
him and for God. Precious Margaret. 

And she was not dead ! What if she should live ? 
What if she recognized him ! 

Upon her breast there slowly rose and fell the 
same crucifix, with its glistening precious stones. 
His heart stood still, and he wondered if he really 
lived. 

A moment later she opened her eyes. They 
rested for a time upon his face and suddenly they 
stared anxiously into his eyes. A moment later the 
crucifix was still, the lids had fallen and a smile 
was chiseled upon her icy lips. 

‘Tt is over/’ said the nurse in solemn voice. 

He had fallen upon his knees and unloosening the 
tiny chain which held the little cross, he clasped his 
hands over it and bent his head upon both. 

He, too, must be a Catholic. And praying for her 
soul. 

But they knew not that in that terrible moment 
the prayers which rose from his lips in the great 
silence of the darkened chamber were not for her, 
but rather the supplication of a despairing man 
whose heart was dead. 


THE ONE MAN 


285 


There was a long silence, and then came a stifled 
moan, the echo of subdued love, a love which is 
sometimes forced to die in the hearts of men. 

He rose at last and the older physician was still 
leaning against the corridor wall. He had read 
the heart of the man before him. Dr. Houston 
walked with him down the long hall. They were 
old friends and he made inquiry about his wife and 
child. He answered as best he could and left the 
hotel, conscious only of the hand grasp of a brother 
man. When he reached the street the sky was 
clear and cold, and the gray dawn proclaimed the 
opening of another day. He had drunken the last 
cup. It was ''one of a costly death.’’ 


Margaret Patmore lived. What appeared to be 
death was only severe collapse; and now for two 
years she had lived on the south Atlantic coast 
through the long tedious convalescence. 

It was an April afternoon and she felt for the 
first time that she was well and at once awakened 
to a new interest in life. She was no longer rich 
and her immediate decision was to return to New 
York and secure employment. 

She sat for some moments and leaned over the 
balcony of her hotel as if listening for the last 
time to the music which came up from the garden 
below. At last she rose and walked almost reluc- 
tantly towards the low French window leading into 
her apartments. 

"Margaret!” 


286 


THE ONE MAN 


For months she had not heard her name spoken. 
She turned suddenly and grasped the casement. 
She half reeled against the panes, for it was the 
voice of her dreams. 

She looked at the man beside her. This could 
not be he — this one with snow white hair and 
furrowed brow. She looked again. There was 
none else near; and in her agitation she extended 
her hand and exclaimed: 

‘^Herbert, — Dr. Von Hoffman 

Again his hand was clasping hers. It was upon 
his lips to say : ''At last Margaret, — my Margaret,’' 
but instead his face grew pale and calm ; and upon 
his clear cut features there was only the expression 
of a mature passion, — the dignity of well mastered 
emotion. 

She raised her eyes to his and tried to speak, but 
the words would not come. He understood her 
confusion and said at once, "It is but an incident 
that I am here. I leave for Havana tomorrow.” 

He followed her into the long, low parlor and 
they talked on and on. Of Fredrika, of his wife’s 
illness and death, and still there was no word that 
he yet loved her. Again he seemed to her a man 
of the world; proud, rich; and she with only the 
prospect of a working woman before her. Her 
eyes sought the floor, and her face paled under the 
thought that now there might be another. And 
that would be the last cup of bitterness. She won- 
dered if she could sacrifice her love any longer; 
wondered if she could give him up to another 
woman. 

Yes, if it would bring him happiness. And he 


THE ONE MAN 


287 


should never know that it gave her pain. The 
thought buoyed her up and for a moment she looked 
up into his face again. The silence was oppressive. 
Suddenly the Magnolia leaves moved softly and she 
breathed in a new life. Her face flushed. She 
was as beautiful as upon that night so long ago, 
when the light went out of both their lives. Their 
eyes met and then she knew that she could not give 
him up and live. A moment later a strange pallor 
crept over her face and she fell senseless at his 
feet. 

He thought that his silence had killed her, and 
with a half crazed impulse he raised her to his 
heart. He called her Margaret, — his Margaret. . . 
And the words were electric, for she opened her 
eyes and looked long and deeply into his, and then, 
like a tired child, she nestled her golden head close 
to his face and their lips met in the intoxication 
of love long years suppressed. 


OCT 6 ySlU 


Oeacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing Agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: 

« « MAR 1996 

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